


Hellsing's Houseguest

by Jubalii



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new guest at Hellsing Manor: He's not there by his own choice, but nevertheless. Alucard's not happy, and Seras is caught up in the middle of a mental warzone that's been going along since the last century. In any case, it doesn't make for peaceful nights!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you time yourself?”

Seras stared up at her elderly employer, who was making her way slowly down the stairs. Sir Integra was well into her 70s, and now had resorted to taking the stairs one at a time as she painstakingly made her way to the lower levels. Going up stairs wasn’t as hard, but Seras always cringed inside when she watched the woman heading down; she couldn’t help it, remembering the time when Sir Integra wasn’t much older than her, and had a much easier time.

“I know bloody well when it takes me longer to get down the damn stairs,” the elderly woman puffed, holding onto the banister as she came down, bones creaking. “We can’t all be young and fit,” she grumbled, eyeing Seras enviously. Although Sir Integra had resolved as a young woman to never become a vampire, Seras knew it must have been hard to grow old and feeble while constantly watching her stay young and vibrant as the years flew by. “I don’t need a damn timer.”

“Don’t be like that,” Seras admonished, leaning on the bottom railing as Sir Integra finally reached the bottom. “I was just making a joke.” It could have been worse; if Sir Integra thought she was too cheeky, the old woman didn’t think twice about smacking her upside the head (although she never hit her as hard as she did Alucard).

“I know, I know,” Sir Integra sighed, holding onto the railing while she caught her breath. “I’m just concerned about the boys.” Seras sighed. The “boys” were the newer members of the Round Table Conference, the oldest of which had celebrated his 25th birthday earlier that month. They were out practicing their combat skills in the field. Despite being accompanied by veteran soldiers, among them their fathers, Sir Integra still was uneasy about them facing off against supernatural forces at such a young age.

It didn’t do any good to remind her that she fought off Nazi invaders at their age, either. She fretted over them like a mother hen over a brood of chicks; however, none of them knew it. She only showed her concern whenever she was alone with Seras. She was pretty sure that if the secret got out that the hardened Sir Integra truly cared about the young men, the old Knight would be mortified. The younger Knights might not even believe it; Sir Integra was harder on them than their own families were.

“Sir, I wouldn’t worry,” Seras said comfortingly, patting the older woman’s shoulder. “They’re surrounded by the best of the best, and no vampire’s going to get within a few yards of them before being shot down.” Sir Integra sighed.

“I know that. But I can’t help but worry. They’re so _soft_ ,” she said, shaking her head. “They’ve been coddled all their lives, and their fathers know it.”

“This will open their eyes, then,” Seras replied. “It’ll do them good.” Sir Integra smiled.

“Well, they’ll need this before I set them up against you and Alucard. The pair of you will be their final test, I believe. They have to be prepared to fight anyone, even people they’ve known personally.” She stared ahead with a firm expression. “The Valentine Incident taught us that, didn’t it?”

“That seems like such a short time ago.” Seras frowned. “But it’s been… decades.” Sir Integra nodded.

“Decades…” she murmured, rubbing her temple. “It makes me feel tired. I wonder if all old people feel this way.”

“You’re not old,” Seras protested. Sir Integra glared at her and she backed a step away. “I mean it! Elderly and old are two different things! You can be elderly, but young at heart!” She thumped her own chest for emphasis.

Sir Integra was going to reply, but the front doors flew open with a bang and startled both women. Jumping behind Sir Integra, Seras shrieked like a banshee while the elder woman whipped her pistol out of her suit and brandished it threateningly.

“Hellsing!” A voice boomed threateningly. Seras ducked lower behind Sir Integra, but her shadows curled protectively around the woman’s legs. Staring through the gap between her pistol-wielding arm and her waist, and saw a large shadow in the doorway. Stepping into the light, the shadow turned into a sopping wet man with an angry snarl. “We need to have words!”

He looked to be in his forties, fifty at the most. He was wearing a white cotton shirt with suspenders and khaki pants, with brown shoes that at one point may have been shined. However, his shirt was clinging to his skin and his pants were sagging, barely held up by the suspenders. His hair was a dark, undefinable colour and hung in his eyes, dripping and sodden. His thick, wire-frame glasses were sliding down his wet nose, and he was forced to keep pushing them back up before they fell off completely.

“We do?” Sir Integra said, staring in confusion. “I’m sorry—have we met?”

“I knew your father,” the man replied, lifting his head to stare at her straight on. “And your grandfather,” he continued, eyeing her with solemn gray eyes. “I—” He paused with a strange look, and then thrust his hands into his pants. Sir Integra’s eyes bugged and he pulled a thick vine out of his pants. The vine had a mind of its own, wriggling like a beheaded snaked and trying to impale its vines into the man’s wrist.

“I have a complaint to list,” he said, throwing the vine back out into the night with an expertise flick of the wrist. “Your _men_ have stormed my home, trampled my garden, shot my windows to shards, and let loose a centuries-old hollyhock that has decided to run rampant _and now_ my entire home is filled to the brim with vines and pollen! I demand recompense!” he finished with a snarl, pushing his hair out of his eyes and stomping one shoe on the ground. His sock squelched in the shoe and he glanced down at it in disgust.

“How did it get into your house?” Sir Integra asked, looking completely baffled. The man smiled scathingly.

“Well, ask your children and their depleted uranium weapons! It mixed with my fertilizer and turned my greenhouse into something from Little Shop of Horrors.” Sir Integra shook her head again.

“Just calm down a moment. Let me get you a towel and some clean things, and then we can talk,” she said, taking control as she moved forward to push him gently in the direction of the showers. The man’s frown lessened and he stepped aside, but followed her down the hall, his shoes squeaking on the tile. “Seras, call Harry to clean all this up,” she called over her shoulder.

“Ah, right, sir!” Seras answered, looking around at the puddles on the floor before running off to find the head butler.

* * *

After helping Harry to clean up the mess, Seras crept down to the first-floor drawing room, where she felt Sir Integra’s presence. She hadn’t noticed in the excitement, but the man’s personal energy felt strange, supernatural. She realized that he wasn’t a human at all, which didn’t surprise her. After years of being a vampire, not much surprised her anymore. She’d seen enough of the world to know that humans were a minority where mortals and immortals were concerned.

The man sounded much calmer, and she peeked around the doorframe to see him sitting in a spare dressing gown with a thick towel around his shoulders. He had a glass of tea sitting by his chair, but he paid little attention to it as he scooted closer to the blazing fire. Sir Integra seemed calmer as well, sipping her tea and nodding enthusiastically to the man’s words.

“…and it will take three weeks at least for the house to set itself in order. I plan on using as little of my own power to help as possible—I don’t want to face another adverse reaction. Humans and their elements seem to respond negatively to them, I see now.”

“I understand completely, sir.” Sir Integra said, taking another drink and picking up a flat biscuit. “You can be assured that I and my Organization will offer you every commodity that’s within our power. We do try to keep these sorts of accidents to the bare minimum, but I’m sure you can understand that where training is concerned….”

“Of course, of course,” the man replied, shaking his head and waving his hands dismissively. “I do understand; young blokes getting trigger happy, is all it was. But this is a wonderful learning opportunity for them.”

“I agree, I—Seras!” Sir Integra saw the blonde head peering around the door and waved her in. “Come meet our new houseguest. He’s going to be staying here while we try to fix the damage done to his home.” Seras self-consciously tugged the short skirt and tight shirt that made up her uniform and stepped into the room, glancing curiously at the man.

Now that he was dry, his hair was a light brown and looked fluffy, drifting around his face although it was mostly combed back. He adjusted his glasses on his nose again as he looked her over before smiling. The bright expression pulled at laugh lines around his mouth and made the lightest silver highlights in his eyes glimmer.

“Hello,” he purred genteelly, standing and giving her a small bow. He stared at her scrutinizingly, his eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her appearance. “It’s been a good many years since I’ve seen a vampiress. I seem to have forgotten how strikingly beautiful they are.” Seras blushed deeply and his smile widened even further, if it were even possible.

“I’m not beautiful,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks burn. His eyebrows rose and he tilted his head, looking like an inquisitive puppy.

“No?” he said, looking puzzled. “Well, I think you’re very beautiful. Uncommonly so, in fact. I would wager a guess that you are a Lady, or someone of gentry.”

“She’s just a Police Girl,” Sir Integra teased, looking entertained at the sight of the flattered and bewildered woman.

“Ah,” the man said, looking as though that cleared up a good many things. Seras smiled uncomfortably, not sure what was happening. Had she stepped through to the Twilight Zone or something? “If I may?” he asked, holding out his hand. She took his hand with the intention of shaking it, but he grabbed it and leaned down to kiss it like she was a princess. The shadows on the room darkened and Seras looked up in the dim light with a soft gasp.

“Oh, Alucard?” she said softly, looking around. The man paused, his lips inches from glove.

“Ah,” he whispered, lifting up slightly and looking around expectantly. “And so it begins.”

“Huh?” Seras responded. She was going to ask what he meant by that, but her words were cut off in a choke as her legs slid out from under her, her body forcefully pulled back against a hard surface. The room spun for a moment and she blinked hard, feeling arms encircle her chest and tug her farther into the shadows.

“Hello again, old chum.” The man smiled, but it seemed a little forced. Sir Integra sat up in her chair, watching the scene cautiously.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” The wall behind Seras rumbled and she realized she was pushed back against Alucard’s chest, his arm crushing her throat as he held her against him. “What are you doing here?” He sounded furious. The man looked back at Sir Integra, who stood.

“Alucard,” she greeted him curtly. “Per orders, _he’s_ going to be staying at Hellsing manor until we fix his house,” she explained in an authoritative tone. Seras couldn’t see Alucard’s face, but she was close enough against his chest to hear the almost inaudible growl.

“Don’t come near her again,” Alucard warned, taking no note of his master’s words. Seras made a sound of protest and he squeezed her warningly. Even if he technically had no power over her anymore since she’d became a full vampiress, he still expected her obedience. “Ever.”

            “I think that depends on her feelings, don’t you?” The man said quietly, hands in his pockets. “She should make decisions for herself.” The growl forced its way up his throat and he let go of her to grab a table beside the door. A vase with chrysanthemums crashed to the floor, water soaking into the oriental carpet. He raised the table over his head and the man’s eyes widened.

            “My God, man,” he swore, before the surprise was overtaken by a stern, angry expression. “What _are_ you doing to the furniture?! That table wasn’t meant to be used in such a fashion!” His next sentence was cut off in a yelp as he ducked behind his armchair, the table shattering against the wall in the space where his head had been a moment before.   
  
            “Alucard!” Seras and Integra exclaimed in synch, and the man popped back up over his chair, a vexed expression on his face.

            “How rude! That was not _your_ table to smash.” He wagged his finger as he said it, as though scolding a small child who had destroyed another’s toy. Alucard snarled and raised his glowing gloved fist when Integra smacked her own fist into the arm of her chair.

            “Alucard!” She repeated in a harsh tone, “Clean that up this instant.” Her visible eye narrowed dangerously behind her glasses and her face tightened with anger; for a moment she looked just like she did before the London Blitz, full of piss and vinegar and with a temper to match.

            “Don’t bother yourself, m’dear,” the man said, walking around the armchair without a thought to the fact that he was now once again in the line of fire. “I’ll get it.” He picked up the pieces of the table and walked back over to the wall, setting the legs on the ground followed by the broken pieces of the surface. He then thumped it with his thumb and forefinger, moving away.

            Seras gaped as she saw the table had been fully fixed, as if it had never been thrown at all. The man took the edge of the oriental carpet and snapped it. Water and shards of china flew in the air faster than even Seras’ vampiric vision could follow, but when they came back down he caught an entire vase. He put the chrysanthemums back in the vase and sat it neatly on the table before nodding in satisfaction, the whole thing taking less than thirty seconds.

            “Cor…” Seras breathed. “He’s like a magician.” The arm tightened like steel band around her throat and she choked, her elbow digging into his stomach. He growled warningly at her and she hissed, pulling her arm back to ram her elbow harder into his gut. “ _Gerroff_!” He refused, and pulled her arm up painfully behind her back until she winced.

  
            Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man striding over to Integra’s chair and lean down and she heard his whispered words clearly; “Should I … help?” He glanced at them and Seras gave a strained smile as she arched up onto tip toe and tried to free herself from the iron hold, her throat compressing painfully against the choke hold. She sighed and sagged against him after a moment; if there hadn’t been guests, she would have already swung up her legs to offset his balance to send them both into the wall. As it was, she pulled all of her weight towards the floor, trying to free her skull from his impromptu headlock.

            Integra looked at them blandly, and raised her teacup to take a leisurely sip. “No, it’s normal.” She turned back to the man and eyed him speculatively, “Would you like a tour of the manor or to retire to your room?” It was as if the two vampires didn’t exist, and Seras flicked her gaze between the elderly human and the whatever-he-was turned house guest.

            “Oh, I think I better retire for the night,” the man said, rubbing his fluffed hair. “I’ve grown accustomed to silence, and all this commotion is putting me on edge. I need to recoup, as the soldiers used to say,” he laughed.

            “Very well,” Integra conceded with a slight nod. “Seras, go and take our new guest to a room; I think one of the third floor suits will suit him nicely. Alucard,” she growled when the vampire made a move to cut Seras off, his arms still encircling her body, “You stay. It seems that you and I need to have a conversation about the coming weeks, and your _behavior_.” He hesitated. “Drop the girl; that’s an order!” she barked suddenly. The gloves glowed and Seras felt the heat of the runes against her skin like a flame. She gasped in pain and he dropped her immediately, allowing her to rub the welt forming on the back of her neck.

            The man stepped forward, blatantly ignoring Alucard and the vampire moved towards his master, blatantly ignoring the man in return. Seras looked between the two of them before clearing her throat.

            “A-alright, third floor! Follow me,” she said with forced chipperness, her cool fingers still prodding the welt. The man obediently fell into step behind her and they left the room, shutting the door behind them. Seras led him silently to the stairs, her face coloring as she considered the awkwardness of the situation. She was slightly embarrassed that this stranger had to see Alucard behaving like that, and her having to try and fight him off.

            “I’m sorry that you had to see—”

            “Don’t bother yourself with it, love,” the man cut her off, and she twisted her head to see him waving her apologies away. “I’ve known that blasted vampire for decades now; nothing he does surprises me much anymore.”

            “So you and Alucard have a history?” she responded, her curiosity getting the better of her. The man nodded, chuckling.

            “Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “A long and violent one, I’m afraid. He loathes me, very much. I daresay he might even “hate my guts”, as the colloquialism goes.” Seras eyed the man, trying to decide what he could have done to make her former master so angry. Alucard usually didn’t care enough about anyone to hate them, or even loathe them for that matter. He either didn’t mind your existence or he did, the latter of which didn’t live very long after the ancient vampire made his choice.

            “What did you do to him?” she finally asked, unable to imagine what the man might have done. The man smiled ruefully and sighed, rolling his shoulders.

            “It’s a very complicated tale; much too complicated for tonight. If you want to know, I’ll tell you tomorrow. To make a long story short, I ruined his life.” Seras felt her eyes bug at his words, and even stopped to turn and face him fully. She stared up into his gray eyes, her own searching for any falsehood in his features. He let her look as long as she liked, his sad smile still on his lips.

            “You?” she blurted after a long, silent moment. “I can’t imagine you doing anything to him that would manage to ruin his life. After all, he’s pretty much a servant to humans now and he doesn’t let _that_ get to him.” The man laughed again, but it was a remorseful sound.

            “You’re young yet, m’dear. But I’ll tell you the story, tomorrow. Be warned, though;” he said, his gaze serious, “I don’t sugarcoat my tales. You’ll hear the truth, like it or not.”

            “Good,” she replied briskly. “I hate people who beat around the bush. I’d rather hear it plain and simple.” They smiled at each other, and without a word moved on towards the room. Seras took him to a suite at the end of the hall, opening the door and showing him in.

            All the third floor suites at Hellsing were the same, made for functionality and practicality. There was a king-size bed with plain white sheets, two wooden bedside tables, and a wooden trunk at the foot. A large wooden bureau that matched the tables was pushed against the wall. There was a window seat with plain cushions, and an adjoining bathroom with a walk-in shower. Another room off to the right was a study, complete with a wooden desk and chair.

            “I hope you’ll be okay in here,” Seras said politely, letting the man step into the room and look around. “I don’t know where your luggage is, or I’d have it brought up for you.”

            “Oh, that’s quite alright,” the man replied absently, gazing around with a thoughtful expression. “I don’t have any luggage.” Seras was about to question him, but he answered her himself. “I find that—” he opened the bureau, saw it empty, and then closed it. He opened it again and there was an entire wardrobe hung neatly on the metal bar inside, socks and shoes laid on the wooden surface.

“I find that it’s easier to just add things as I go, rather than make an effort to pack,” he finished his sentence, closing the doors again. He walked to the nearest bedside table and she _knew_ that it was empty, but he opened the drawer and began to pull all manner of things out: a book, a stack of papers, spare glasses, a paperweight in the shape of an eagle.

“D-do you,” Seras replied, wonderstruck as he continued to move about the room, pulling things out of drawers and setting up his space. It was the same feeling she had when she was young, and had first watched Mary Poppins pull the coatrack out of her carpetbag. It was a childish, magical feeling that had her grinning.

“Naturally. I never get the feeling that I’ve forgotten something.” He looked over his work, which was now cluttering every available surface in a surprisingly neat manner, and then smiled at her. “Well, I think I’ll turn in,” he said, staring at her until she realized he was politely telling her to go away. She jerked, still lost in thought about his “magic” powers.

“Oh, yes!” she shook her head, rubbing her hair. She didn’t usually daydream, and wondered if it might be a side effect being around his kind, whatever he was. “I’ll leave you to it, then, Mr.….” She paused; after all that had happened, she’d never managed to catch his name. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ve actually been introduced to me.”

“Renfield,” he said promptly, grabbing her hand and giving it a good shake. “R.M. Renfield, but most find it easier to leave the initials off and just go by my surname.” Seras felt her jaw drop; her mind was working in overtime.

“Ren—wait,” she said slowly, trying to catch up to her out of control thoughts. “ _That_ Renfield?” She had never felt any sort of denial for who Alucard was. She had put two and two together easily enough during the Blitz, and after all was said and done she’d read everything about Dracula she could get her hands on, including the titular novel (which, Sir Integra had explained, was far more romanticized than the real life situation had ever been).

“I dunno,” he said, still clasping her hand lightly. He was warm, but not hot like a human. She wondered briefly if his skin was really as cold as hers. “Do you know another Renfield? I was always led to believe I was the only one.”

“No, I just…” Seras faltered, unsure of how to explain it. When she’d read the book, the character of Renfield had seemed so...well, in any case, this had not been what she’d thought of. This Renfield was witty and perhaps a little eccentric, but not—“You’re not a looney?” she said quickly, before thinking that it might be offensive to say something like that to someone you’ve just met.

“Posh,” the man said, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m utterly mad, mental, deranged, and psychologically inept,” he assured her. “But then again, aren’t we all?”

“I’m not,” Seras replied indignantly. Renfield grinned slyly.

“But you admit to the existence of vampires, werewolves, dæmons, magic, and all occult forces of the supernatural?” Seras paused, eyeing him askance for a long moment.

“Of course,” she finally said with a nod. “I _am_ a vampire. Of course they exist.”

“Well then, according to worldly standards you are a verifiable lunatic, my dear.” He tilted his head with a strange expression, and for a moment he _did_ look insane. Seras felt a shiver work its way up her spine and suddenly wished that Alucard was there to drag her away. But as quick as the moment had come, it had passed and she was left wondering what it was she had been frightened of, for he seemed as harmless as before.

“Oh.” Seras had nothing else to say to his logic. “Oh.”

“Good-night, Seras Victoria.” He pushed her gently out the door and closed it with an audible click. She stood in the hall, wracking her brains and trying to remember if she’d told him her full name. She got creeped out before deciding that Sir Integra must have told him her surname. Still, she had the strange feeling that Renfield had been able to see more about her than she had about him.

She wasn’t sure if she liked that.

* * *

“Don’t be angry.” Seras was standing in Alucard’s chambers, where it looked like a hurricane had swept through. Things were thrown everywhere, but Seras herself remained untouched. “I was just doing what I was told. And besides, it’s my business who I speak to, and I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” Alucard had finished his rage-fueled rampage, and now was in his chair staring at the wine bottle dejectedly. Whatever Sir Integra had told him had worked—he hadn’t gone after Renfield, but he hadn’t spoken a word about him either until Seras had brought it up.

“It’s implied,” she countered, walking over and pouring him some wine in a glass. “Here, cheer up a little. You don’t have to look at him, you know.” She handed him the glass and he took it, frowning at it before taking a sip and placing it back on the table.

“I don’t want him near you,” Alucard declared. “Everything he gets his hands on becomes ruined.” Seras groaned.

“We talked about sexual innuendos, didn’t we?” she said sarcastically, wrinkling her nose. “Besides, he seems like a gentleman. More of a gentleman than you, anyway,” she teased softly. “He told me outright that he ruined your life, and he even offered to tell me the story tomorrow night.” She let the words hang in the air, hoping he would make an offer to tell her his side of the story. But, as always, he seemed dead-set against telling her anything about himself.

“Don’t believe everything he says,” was all Alucard replied.

“I’ll believe what I want.” She paused, and then stepped closer, her hand on his shoulder. “It won’t change my opinion of you, no matter what I hear. I’ve already made my impression, and that’s going to stay the same.”

“What is your opinion of me?” Alucard asked, and even though he tried to hide it Seras could hear the curiosity in his tone. She smiled and winked at him, but didn’t answer.

“It’s late. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She had the fleeting urge to bend down and kiss his forehead, but squashed it and turned to leave with a smile. He didn’t need to know how she felt about him. He’d laugh at her, or even worse—get angry. And she couldn’t help her innermost desires.

“Good day, Seras Victoria,” he said quietly, and she turned at the door, watching him pick the wineglass up gingerly and take a long drink. She suppressed a sigh and walked slowly up the hall to her chambers. As excited as she was to know the full story, she wished she could hear it from him.

It made her wonder if he might be ashamed to tell it.


	2. Chapter 2

            When Seras awoke the next evening, she could hardly wait to get upstairs. She hoped that their new houseguest was a night owl! After hurriedly showering and dressing, she scarfed down her nightly allowance of blood with the excitement of a child told to eat her dinner before she could open Christmas presents. Then, she nearly hopped up the stairs to Sir Integra’s office.

            She hoped the elderly woman didn’t have a mission for her tonight. It had been relatively quiet ever since the London Blitz, but there were still a few vampires out there that stirred up trouble now and again. The woman had smirked at Seras, who was bouncing on her heels as she asked first if there was a mission, and then if Mr. Renfield had not gone to bed yet.

            “No, he hasn’t.” Sir Integra lit a cigar and softly breathed the smoke, which curled lazily into the air. “He’s given me the impression that for him, sleeping isn’t a necessity. You can ask yourself, though.”

            “Yes, Sir,” Seras said politely. “Do you know where he might be found?” The elderly woman shook her head.

            “I have no earthly idea. But when I gave him a tour of the grounds, he seemed particularly interested in the gardens out back. Perhaps you might find him there; apparently gardening is a hobby of his.” Seras turned on her boot, ready to head out the door, but Sir Integra called her back.

            “Seras,” she began seriously, bidding the vampiress to come a bit closer. “Alucard is not happy that this man is a guest in our home.” Seras shrugged, but didn’t deny the fact. “Do you know _why_ he has to stay here? Wouldn’t it be easier to put him up in a hotel until his house is fixed?”

            “Because…”Seras paused, and then shook her head. “Because it’s our fault his house is overgrown?” she answered uncertainly.

            “No, that’s not it.” Seras frowned and gave another small roll of her shoulders. She had no idea. “It’s the law, that’s why.”

            “The law?” Sir Integra nodded grimly.

            “When a supernatural creature is… well, the closest thing to it is “registered”; they have to register with us that they own a home in the country. It’s to keep up with the threat, really. If they move houses, or _especially_ if they move to a different country, they have to provide documentation for it.”

            “Documentation? Like a change-of-address form or something?”

            “That’s right.” She leaned back in her chair, staring thoughtfully at the trail of smoke. “And Renfield followed the proper protocol—even if it hadn’t been us that ruined his house, he’d still have to come here and make his case. He’s not opting to move; he just wants his home fixed and cleaned up. So he has to stay here, to cut back on paperwork. Should he have been an actual threat to humans, this would have served another purpose as well, since we can keep a better eye on him inside our walls.”

            “He’s not a threat to humans, but I think he could be if he wanted to.” Seras was subtle, but Sir Integra caught her question nonetheless and smiled.

            “Yes, he’s got the potential to be a true danger, but I think he’s like most other supernatural beings—they just want to get along as best they can without being interfered with. Meddling with humans would cause unneeded strife.” She licked her lips and tapped ash into the silver tray on her desk. “But that’s not why I brought this up.”

            “You mentioned Alucard, Sir.” Sir Integra sighed.

            “Precisely. That damned…” she trailed off, lost in her own thoughts. She did it often, and the best thing to do was to wait patiently until she gathered her mind and finished her speech. Seras did so, even though she really wanted to run out and find their guest to wring the story of how he ruined Alucard’s life out of him.

            “He’s not going to be a problem. Last night, we had a long talk. But he was adamant that you shouldn’t be allowed around Renfield.”

            “Yes, Sir. He told me that too, but when I left his chamber last night he knew that I was going with him today.”

            “Seras—”

            “It’s alright, Sir.” Seras smiled brightly at her. She knew that Sir Integra was concerned, and thought she had every right to be. But she was just a human—she had no way of understanding how their relationship was. Seras knew that Alucard let her do things that he wouldn’t allow from a human person, or even another vampire person. “I can handle Alucard. Don’t worry.”

            “Don’t misunderstand me,” Sir Integra responded, waving her cigar. “I know very well that you can handle Alucard. And I’m sure that he wouldn’t put you in any danger that he couldn’t get you out of just as easily. I just don’t want the _perceived_ threats to cause any accidents.” Something dawned on Seras and she nodded slowly, starting to understand the heiress’ train of thought.

            “So you want me to….”

            “I’ve already told him, but I think that if you were to explain to Renfield that Alucard won’t put you in a compromising situation, he might believe you more. I’d hate to cause a problem because Renfield thought you needed protection. There’s something about coming between Alucard and what he wants that’s….” She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Seras placed her hand on the older woman’s shoulder and patted comfortingly.

            “It won’t happen. Not on my watch,” she said with conviction.

            “Thank you,” she replied softy. “Now go. And Seras; he’s told me that you wanted to know the full story behind things.” Seras nodded silently. “Promise me that you’ll let it all sink in before you try and go talk to Alucard about it. He may not let you say your opinion.”

            “I know. I don’t think he _wants_ me to know, honestly.”

            “He doesn’t,” Sir Integra mused. “But he knows you won’t rest until you hear it, one way or another.” Seras looked down at her questioningly and she smiled slyly. “You know, I’m still bonded with him, even if you aren’t. Every once in a while I like to take a peek in his mind, to see what’s going on.” Her grin widened significantly. “He thinks about you a good bit of the time.”

            “Don’t read into things,” Seras snapped, her cheeks coloring. “He probably just thinks about how absentminded I am, and how much I mess up.”

            “Sometimes,” Sir Integra conceded with a chuckle. “And sometimes not,” she added vaguely. Seras scowled and she laughed again, covering her mouth with her free hand. Her one visible eye sparkled with mischief.

            “Don’t tease me!” Seras scrubbed her cheeks with her palms, trying to rub the heat and color out of them. “He’s not—he doesn’t…I’m going to check on Mr. Renfield!” she finally called over her shoulder, dissolving into shadows to get out of the room. The elderly Knight kept laughing until it turned into a fit of coughing that had her doubled over the desk for a long moment.

            When she caught her breath, she rose and extinguished the cigar in the ashtray, moving her patch to wipe the tears from her eyes.

            “She’s so fun to tease. I know now why _he_ does it in the first place.”

* * *

            He was out in the garden; at least, he had to be. She didn’t see him, but there was such a drastic change to the landscape that she would have been highly surprised if it _hadn’t_ been his handiwork.

The gardens were sparse; at one time, they had held essential vegetables for the war effort. But after World War II, the carrots and cabbages had been replaced with bushes and flowers, and then left to grow on their own. It had become an overgrown dumping ground for seeds and unused saplings and had become a jungle of sorts.

            But everything looked more in order now; Seras stepped through the wire gate into the garden part, looking interestedly at the neatly pruned saplings and the organized walk paths. The trimmings lay in neat piles at intervals along the wire fence separating the garden from the rest of the manor grounds. The few trees that were rooted and taller than her had had their bottom limbs trimmed, and the roots were covered in mulch and fresh soil.

            “Wow,” she breathed, turning a slow circle. “This is miraculous.”

            “Miracles have nothing to do with it, my dear.” His voice startled her and she jumped with a small yelp, spinning around to find the source of the noise. His head popped up from behind a hedgerow and he smiled cordially at her, brandishing a pair of shearing scissors. “It just takes a little hard work and planning. Give me two days and I’ll have this garden right as rain.”

            “Why bother?” Seras asked before she could think. Seeing his eyebrows rise in question, her cheeks turned pink and she fumbled to explain herself. “What I mean is, no one comes out here to see the garden. We don’t use it anymore, so why fix it up?”

            “You might not use it, but others do.” He motioned her over. “You talk of miracles—come and see.” She hesitated, but gingerly picked her way around the piles of moldering leaves and snipped vines. She made it around the hedgerow and he made her kneel beside him on the ground, a finger to his lips to warn her that she should be quiet. She felt the damp, loamy soil through her stockings and wondered briefly if they would stain before he caught her attention again.

            He drew back the hedge, pointing to something beneath the long, tangled limbs. Seras obediently ducked lower and saw what he had been speaking about. It was a rabbit’s nest, nestled in a hole in the earth, and covered by the shelter of the hedgerow. Three small rabbits lay inside, their eyes shut tight and their noses twitching. Seras didn’t dare breathe as she gazed in awe at the creatures; each bunny could have easily fit into the palm of her hand.

            “I won’t trim the hedge or rake the leaves around here,” he said, leaning over to whisper directly into her ear, his chin on her shoulder. “I’d hate to disturb them.” He gently lowered the hedge back into place and stood, somehow managing to keep completely silent. She stood as well and he took her arm, leading her over to a bench that Seras had never seen before. She realized why—it was surrounded on all sides with large, leafy bushes. Most likely, it had been overgrown long before she ever came to Hellsing.

            “Humans may not frequent this place, but I’ve seen animals and nests everywhere here. And when I clean it up, more will come to this place.” He seemed distant, watching the plants move in the breeze. “Those small rabbits—each one’s DNA is different than the other rabbits, and there will never be another rabbit in all of Christendom that has the same DNA as those rabbits. Each atom, every molecule, will never be the same, not in all the billions and billions of rabbits that pass through this Earth. _That_ is miraculous. The wonders of the workings of the universe….after all this time, I still can’t fathom it all.”

            “I can’t either, sir.” Seras’ head felt light; it was deep, what he’d said. “And the strangest part is that the rabbits will never know.” This made the man laugh so hard he nearly slid off the other end of the bench. He wiped his eyes under his glasses once he’d managed to calm down, his shoulders still shaking with mirth.

            “My dear, you’ve said something so profound!” he hooted. “Forgive me,” he chuckled when she glared at him, puzzled. “I’ve just never heard it put that way before. All the things in the universe work for a reason, but the rabbits will never know how or why. That amazes me. It’s a good metaphor.”

            “I wasn’t being metaphorical,” Seras informed him curtly. “Mr. Renfield, if I can just get to the point—”

            “No “Mr.”,” he interrupted. “I’d rather you just say “Renfield”, if you please.” Seras nodded with a suppressed sigh.

            “Alright then. Renfield, last night you promised to tell me about your past, concerning Alucard.” The man blinked at her in surprise.

            “I did no such thing!” he protested. “I’ve never promised you anything.” Seras bit back a retort, trying to remember that this man was known to be off his rocker and she was supposed to be polite with guests in the house.

            “Maybe you didn’t say “I promise”, but _did_ tell me that you’d tell me about your past tonight.” The man screwed up his nose and shook his head, crossing his arms.

            “My good madam, I told you that I would tell you why Alucard swears that I ruined his life, and nothing more.” Seras gawked for a moment at him, trying to determine if he was joking with her. However, he seemed entirely serious.

            “B-b-but,” she sputtered, trying to find the right words. “Fine,” she finally agreed, slumping down on the bench. “All you men are just alike,” she grumbled.

            “Don’t be cross, dear,” Renfield said gently, patting her arm. “It’s just that altogether it’s a little too tragic for you.” Seras laughed scornfully.

            “I’ve had my share of tragedy too,” she informed him bitterly. “Nothing you say could possibly _ruin_ me,” she added, remembering Alucard’s words from last night. She felt Renfield’s eyes on her, but didn’t look over at him. She had a feeling he was trying to weigh her words against something only he knew, and she didn’t want to see the look on his face. She couldn’t stand to see any pity there; she’d been pitied enough over the years.

            “Look at me.” She looked over without meaning to, compelled by the kind tone in his voice. He scooted closer to her on the bench, reaching out for her face. She shied back, unsure of his intentions, but his arms were longer than the space between them when she reached the edge of her seat. His hands encircled her face, palms resting on her jaws and fingers splayed towards her ears. He leaned in and she froze, bewildered.

            He looked like he was staring at her neck but his eyes were moving, almost as if he was watching a movie playing out on her skin. She sat there, the warmth from his hands seeping into her cheeks, and time passed at a crawl. She looked around, hoping to anyone that would listen that Alucard didn’t see them like this; how would she explain it? She had no idea what was going on! Minutes passed and then he just as quickly removed his hands from her, her face growing cold with the sudden lack of touch.

            “I see,” he replied sadly, moving back to give her some space on the bench, his hands folding in his lap. “That is indeed tragic,” he murmured, tilting his head and seemingly absorbing whatever he’d just seen. Seras licked her lips and they sat silently, listening to the chirping crickets in the grass all around them.

            “Alright,” he chirped himself, seeming to come to some internal conclusion. “I’ll give you the abridged version then, shall I?” He turned to her and she saw he had a book in his lap, underneath his hands. She knew he hadn’t had it a moment before, but after seeing him “unpack” last night, she was beginning to understand that conventional laws of physics didn’t seem to apply to him.

            “This,” he said, holding up the book, and she saw that it was Dracula. “Utter rubbish. History’s always written by the victors—isn’t that what humans say?” he asked more to himself, thumbing through the manuscript with a melancholy air.

            “But you _were_ there.” He looked up at her.

            “…For parts of it,” he confessed. She tilted her head and looked at him through her bangs, her eyes flitting from his to the books title, and the picture on the front. It was the quintessential vampire picture, with a busty blonde screaming as a dark shadow in a cape loomed over her, a bat outside the window. The blonde’s blue eyes were horrified, and Seras saw how much detail went into the expression of terror on her face. But the shadow was just a shadow—something to be feared, but not fearful itself. Why did they never draw the vampire full-on, with as much detail as they did the woman?

            “And you betrayed him in the end, to help the humans,” she added quietly. He shook his head, and hair fluttered down from his neat hairstyle and sat on his forehead, above his glasses. A look of pain crossed his face.

            “No! No,” he whispered vehemently, and Seras was astonished at the misery suddenly etched on his features. “I never meant to—I….” He paused a long moment, staring at nothing in particular. Seras recognized the look; Alucard got it often. The man was remembering. “Not to help the humans. I never meant for it to go so far. I didn’t know what it was that he wanted—” He stopped again, his fingers clutching at the book’s spine as though it were his only hope. “They wrote me as a coward, a sniveling, cowardly insect-eater. I suppose I deserve it. I _was_ cowardly. But I never meant for him to be hurt. _Never_.”

            “I don’t understand.” Seras watched him, trying to discern his thoughts. He sighed, the sound heavy with emotion.

            “I think he hates me sometimes because I feel remorse for what happened. He hates pity, you know; he abhors it, he never knew how to feel it and probably never will. But I feel such guilt, and I have such regrets…” she looked up at him and was amazed at the lone tear streaking down his cheek. He let it fall and she thought that he looked angelic in that one moment, the tear shining in the moonlight. But he wiped it away when it reached his chin, and the moment was lost as he cleared his throat and looked at the book.

            “Time, my dear, is of the essence. I can wallow in my sorrow all day, but you have only a few scant hours before dawn breaks and you must retreat to your little wooden box.” He sounded self-conscious, but Seras waited silently and he continued. “Before I can tell you the how, I must tell you the _why_. And to know the why, you must know a little about who, or rather _what_ , I am.”

            “Imagine that Creation is a book. Like this book, for instance.” He held up the book. “Each page is an entire universe, completely separate from all the others, but still in the same Creation. Time marches along, and the people live their lives without ever knowing about the other pages existing. Are you still following me?”

            “I think I understand; you mean like alternate dimensions.” Renfield nodded.

            “Yes, you’re on the right track. Now, there is a being that turns the pages, and keeps track of everything that goes on, on each page, simultaneously. This being can meddle with individual lives, he can change time, or anything else, almost like an author can.” Seras scrunched her brow, trying to imagine it.

            “You—you mean like God?” she finally asked, trying to picture it. Renfield shrugged.

            “It goes by many names. God is only one of them. For now, let’s just call It the Being, because that’s what It is.” Seras nodded and he smiled before thumbing through the pages once more. “This Being can be in all places at once in the story, but sometimes It wants to…nudge others along, if you will. Let’s take Earth, since it’s familiar to you.”

            “Alright,” Seras said, trying to stay caught up in the conversation. All this metaphorical talk was beginning to bog her mind down.

            “This Being wants to nudge humans in the right direction—say, a person should become a doctor. Perhaps someone on the train he takes to school has a heart attack, and a doctor saves her life and now the man is inspired. Or a teacher makes a comment that sticks in his mind. It can be a split-second contact, or an extended one. That’s where I come in.” Seras frowned.

            “So you’re an angel?” Renfield smirked.       

            “Not hardly.”

            “But angels are the ones that are supposed to help people! You’re not a demon; you’re not bad.” Renfield thought about it a while before shrugging.

            “If you want to stick me somewhere… I’m the gray area of the universe. I’m not _bad_ , but I’m not necessarily _good_ either.” Seras scowled.

            “You can’t be both! You have to be one or the other! If you’re not an angel and you’re not a demon, then what _are_ you?”

            “If I were to tell you,” he declared, “your mortal ears would not be able to comprehend it. The word I am is not a word used in earthly speech. Have you, by any chance, seen an American motion picture called Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

            “Ye-es,” Seras answered slowly, eyeing him strangely. What did that have to do with Renfield playing both the good and evil field in the universe?

            “Have you, by any chance, seen the _end_ of said motion picture? When they open the Ark, hmm?” Seras answered again with a nod, and he mimicked an explosion with his fingers. “That would be your ears. Hopefully not your entire face melting away, but that’s a common occurrence when mortal flesh comes in contact with things beyond this plane. But, I feel as if I’ve gone off topic.”

            “What does any of this have to do with Alucard?” Seras finally asked. Renfield aahed and placed the book between them, lacing his fingers and crossing his legs. He held his knee in his hands and rocked back slightly on the bench, looking out at the quiet night. No one had bothered them yet, although the soldiers were eying the “cleaned” garden strangely for some reason.

            “I’m getting to that. To make a long story shorter, I work as an intermediary of sorts. I’m quite adept at what I do, actually. I enjoy it immensely. Once I’ll be a Vietnam soldier, and then a Regency executioner, and then perhaps a priest in a tiny monastery off the coast of Spain.”

            “It sounds hectic,” Seras remarked casually. Renfield laughed.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But it’s so fun, living all those different lives. My personal favorite was when I stood at the steps of the guillotine and was speckled with the blood of Marie Antoinette. Morbidly fascinating…guillotines, I mean. Not Marie; she was a bore.” He paused, thinking—about guillotines, or Marie?—before clearing his throat again.

“Anyway, so it came to pass that my next assignment _didn’t_ come from my boss, but from the Being Itself. I was naturally surprised, but when the head of Creation tells you to do something, you don’t dare refuse. So my next assignment was… Alucard.”

“Alucard.” Renfield’s brow knitted slightly over his lenses.

“Well, at that time he was still referred to as Vlad, or Count Dracula, etcetera etcetera. And my job was to keep him from taking over England with his bloodlust. His plan had been to take England by storm, or something, according to the Being anyway. So my job was to stop it from happening at all costs, by any means necessary.”

“So that’s why you did it?” Renfield sighed.

“Not exactly,” he confessed. Seras frowned in confusion and he waved her unasked questions away. “My original plan had been simple—to stop him from taking over England, I’ll stop him from getting to England. I tried to distract him—I had three women from different walks of life come to him for three different reasons.”

“The three brides?” Seras asked. He nodded and the sadness entered his eyes again.

“I feel responsible for their deaths, first and foremost. They needn’t have died; not when I could have tried other ways first. But van Helsing got them in the end, with blades through their hearts even as they pleaded for mercy. I can’t blame the old bloke—he thought he was doing their immortal souls a favor. But it just caused them unneeded pain.”

“So they weren’t all there as his concubines, or daughters or whatever-the-hell they were?” Renfield shook his head.

“One was seeking political refuge. Another was staying at the castle while her mate was off on business to the East. The last was just a young girl of sixteen, who had fled her sire to seek shelter at the castle, under allegations of abuse.”

“What else did you do?”

“He was dead-set on going to London. I made sure to make contact with him, in order to keep a better eye on him while under the guise of a humble lunatic. My diet is… unusual, to say the least, so it wasn’t hard to appear mad to those poor, ignorant humans.”

“So you _do_ eat insects.” Seras was surprised at this. She hadn’t taken him for a bug-eater, even if he was a little strange.

“I eat what I can find,” he replied smartly. “A human could set me up for a year, perhaps. But I hate taking human life like that—when there are animal lives instead. A bear, or a wildcat or a wolf. Bats are more portable, I suppose, and insects are the easiest to find, but if I lived on insects alone I’d have to eat constantly.” He smiled at her. “It’s their life essence I devour, not their bodies.”

“Life essence? You mean blood?” He shook his head. “Their soul, then?”

“No! No, I’d never be able to do that,” he laughed. “A soul’s too intangible. Life essence is sort of like what you refer to as energy.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense, I guess. Insects wouldn’t have as much harvestable energy as a bear, would they? They’re too tiny.”

“You’re getting the point, at least. But, on with the story—I sent a storm to throw the ship he was taking off course. I couldn’t bring myself to sink it; not with so many innocent lives on it. But he still managed to make it to England, and he managed to kill every last one of those poor men. And then he began to target those girls….”

“But why did you betray him, then?” Renfield shook his head again, staring at her intently.

“I did not betray him,” he argued. “To betray him would mean that I planned it all! I didn’t—my plans blew up in my face. Van Helsing chased him off of English soil and I just wanted to assure the man that Vlad would never return! But he took my facts and chased him back to Transylvania to try and kill him; nearly succeeded too.”

“But he turned him into a servant instead.” It wasn’t a question, but her tone was hesitant.

“Van Helsing was a selfish, arrogant man. He _was_ kind and gentle, but he wasn’t without faults. His ancestors sold their souls for that sort of occult power,” Renfield proclaimed, his face grim. “He thought he could control Alucard and make him a pet, a weapon. But Alucard fought back and instead of simply containing him, van Helsing experimented on him. He all but tortured him.”

“He turned him into something very powerful and dangerous,” Seras added. Renfield nodded.

“Yes, he is very powerful and dangerous. He was before, but even more so now. But—I didn’t have any way to help. I’d been given new orders by that point; stay out of the way and keep a tight watch on Alucard. My failure could have sealed my fate, but I was instead sent as a sort of watchdog for a vampire instead. So I’ve been biding my time in England since that fateful day, watching.”

“You’ve seen everything? The London Blitz and all?”

“To be honest, I saw it from afar. I was keeping tabs, because Alucard had let loose his powers and if I had to step in to keep England safe, then so be it. I didn’t know you were _his_ , though. I knew you had come to Hellsing, but so many soldiers come and go, I just assumed you were another. And you weren’t my focus anyway,” he added offhandedly.

“One more question, for now?” Seras asked, not wanting to bother their guest by making him relive too many sad memories. Renfield nodded. “Did you ever warn Alucard, about what might happen?” The man’s smile vanished and he rubbed his temples with a groan.

“So many times. I tried desperately to stop him back then, when he was chasing after that married woman out of spite. He’d already compromised himself with that Westenra girl, but he refused to listen. I warned him again during World War II about keeping his pride, but he just had to go and let the Nazis escape. _Then_ look what happened. They came back with a bloody airship that cost who knows how many lives?”

He groaned again. “He’s been such a headache to me. But I do try to get along with him. I really do have his best interests at heart. I just wish he wasn’t so damn caught up in himself.”

“So do I,” Seras agreed, standing. “Thank you, Renfield. There are still a lot of things I don’t understand, but I know now why you feel guilty for what happened to him. And I understand why Alucard is so angry at you. But…it’s still foggy for me in places.”

“Of course it is,” he replied, remaining seated as she began to walk away. “But one day you might know everything.” Seras paused, and then looked over her shoulder at him.

“One more question,” she half-demanded. He smiled obligingly. “Did he…did he love them?” She didn’t have to explain; Renfield knew what she meant.

“My dear, I’m not entirely sure he’s got it in him to love.” Seras forced a smile and a nod and turned away, going back to her room to think. She suddenly felt like her mind was spinning too fast, and she wanted to just crawl into bed.

* * *

She didn’t crawl into bed, though. She sat at her small table, her head in her hands, and cried. She wasn’t sure if she was crying for her Master, or Renfield, or herself. She just felt like it was something that needed to be done, so she didn’t try to stem the flow that poured from behind her closed eyelids.

She had no idea anyone was in the room with her until she heard her bedsprings creak. Sitting up and wiping her eyes, she turned her head to see Alucard sitting on the bed, which had finally replaced her coffin when she began drinking blood on a regular basis. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes again with the edge of her collar, trying to make sure there weren’t any wet spots still on her face.

He was just _staring_ at her, as unnerving as it was. He hadn’t made any noise or sound to show his arrival, and so Seras had no idea how long he’d been sitting there. He wasn’t dressed in his coat, hat, or sunglasses, which meant that he hadn’t come to fetch her for a mission. Most likely, he’d heard her crying and had come up to see what was going on. She was sure he had inferred that she was crying about something that had to do with him, and she wondered what he thought about it. It was times like this she missed being able to glance inside his head.

He had his elbows on his knees and was hunched over, his eyes unwavering through a curtain of black bangs. She blinked back and sniffed again, hoping that snot wasn’t running down her face. Turning around to sit sideways in her chair, she regarded him with a sense of mystery, intending to find out why he was there without giving away anything she’d talked about with Renfield. She wanted to ask more questions—she wanted to ask Alucard questions too, but she was certain she’d get more from Renfield in any case.

“What is it?” she asked, as if she hadn’t been crying a few seconds ago. “Is something wrong?”

“What is the matter?” His voice was flat, without the usual suave infliction that he used. It made him sound very serious, and Seras was shocked that he was taking her tears so gravely, and that he didn’t seem at all angry or malicious. She licked her lips, tasting salt.

“Nothing, I was just…”she paused. “I was just getting some emotion out.” His brow knitted, and he waited for her to explain. However, she had no intention of doing so, just yet. “Alucard, if I asked you a question, would you promise to tell me the truth?” He sat silent for a long moment, looking more like a statue than a man.

“I will not tell you a lie,” he finally answered. She stood up, walking to sit beside him on the bed. Her fingers went to his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He leaned away from her, his expression puzzled before settling in a more neutral frown. She stared up at him steadfastly, her mouth set in a grim line.

“Why did you ever come to England?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Seras ever get the answers she seeks?   
> And what of those rabbits?   
> Will they last through the season, and not be eaten by a vengeful owl?   
> Should everyone forget about Season One of Parks and Recreation, and instead pretend that Season Two is Season One?   
> The answers to these questions, and more, on our next action-packed episode of “All My Vampires”.


	3. Chapter 3

            They gazed at each other while she waited for him to answer her question. The seconds ticked by, and she began to wonder why he didn’t answer her. It was a straightforward enough question, wasn’t it? Finally he cleared his throat, brow furrowing further.

            “There is no one reason,” he said, breaking the silence that had seemed to stretch on forever. “Everyone seems to have a different opinion _why_. I had my motives, but to understand them you would have to know the centuries of events leading up to my departure from my country.” He had the air of a scholar, or perhaps a college professor. _To understand the voyage, first we must understand…._

            “I can learn,” she said quietly, earning her a chuckle with a darker edge. Not his angry laugh, per say, but more of a hollow, grim sound.

            “It would take longer than one night to tell you,” he clarified. “I could tell you of a different political takeover, a different war, a different assassination attempt every night,” he said, waving his hand as if brushing the details back to the murky history of his past, “and at the end of a hundred years you would still be no closer to understanding.”

            She didn’t reply, looking away for a moment. She felt an old pang in her chest at his words. He’d experienced so much in his existence, and most of it was nothing but the terrible side of humanity. It had warped him, undoubtedly. He sighed, the sound weighted.

            “I—I might like to hear, sometimes,” she admitted so softly, she could have been talking to herself. “If you ever wanted to tell me.”

            “You’d like to hear about my exploits?” he laughed again, this time the sound borderline sadistic. “I suppose you’d enjoy eating your dinner and hearing about how I executed my political prisoners.” She winced slightly and he leaned in.

“You can impale them and miss every vital organ,” he continued in a near whisper, his finger prodding her stomach almost gently, moving up and pointing out every one of her organs like a scientist with an anatomical model. “It can take days, weeks to die,” he told her with the air of someone revealing a great secret. “Of course, if you’re lucky, the birds will eat you first. Blackbirds love the taste of flesh; eyes, then the nose, and _then_ through the cavities to your brain, all while you’re still around to enjoy every moment.”

She wanted to shout “Stop!” at the top of her lungs, but doing so would only cement his notion that she couldn’t handle his stories. She pressed her lips into a thin line, but she couldn’t hide the wounded look in her eyes.

His own eyes widened and some of the hardness left his gaze, though they never really became what one might call “soft”. It was the look he gave her when his actions were too much for her, causing her to tear up or break slightly. It happened so rarely, but it did happen and he understood. He knew what he was; he knew that she knew, and that there was no need to hide it.

“You don’t want to hear about the things I’ve done, Seras,” he stated quietly, but firmly. His fingers brushed her cheek before pulling away.

“Yes… alright.” She agreed, not arguing with him for once. Usually their little “discussions” lasted longer than this; ever since her release from her blood-born servitude, she had stopped feeling the need to submit to every little detail. Usually they reached a compromise, but not without a few broken bones or a sprain. This time, she couldn’t help but feel more compliant.

They stayed quiet a few moments longer, sitting in a tense silence as they each sorted through their thoughts. Then Alucard stretched out on her bed, making himself comfortable.

“So, what did the mad solicitor have to say?” he asked, breaking the heavy atmosphere. Seras grinned, shaking her head and banishing the darker thoughts to a corner of her mind. She’d muse over them later, when she was alone and had time to consider for herself what might have happened to make him leave his homeland for foggy, damp England. He clearly didn’t have a reason to tell her, and he didn’t make up a lie, so she’d have to be happy with her own opinions for now.

“I think that’s between me and him, the same way our conversations stay between us,” she told him. “You wouldn’t expect me to go running off telling him everything we just talked about, would you?”

“No, but I thought you’d still have some loyalty left for me,” he retorted in the same light tone. “After all, you owe more to me than you ever would to him.”

“I disagree. If he hadn’t buggered it up, we’d never have met,” Seras protested. “You’d have gotten whatever you’d come to England for, and you’d be waging war on the humans to this day.”

“Do you really think so?” he asked, propping his hands behind his head and pulling up one knee. “You don’t believe in some strange form of destiny that states we’d have ended up running into each other, no matter what happened?”

“I do not,” she replied curtly, crossing her arms. “I choose my own destiny, thank you very much.” He looked at her strangely for a moment before closing his eyes.

“That you do, Police Girl.”

* * *

            _“You will, I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind, later on, that I did what I could to convince you to-night_.” Seras paused her reading, staring off into space with a frown. She had spent most of the day cooped up in her coffin on her tablet. She’d spent her day by opening up her digital copy of  Dracula and word-searching for every sentence containing the mention of Renfield, instead of sleeping like she should have been.

            It was much easier than bogging through the texts herself, but she’d read the story before, many times. Right now, she was more interested in reading up on their enigmatic guest, and what Mr. Stoker had said about him.

            She could see it, in her mind’s eye. She could see him sitting on the bed, just like the story told it. He’d have been slightly hunched over. His hands wouldn’t have been clenched, but instead his elegant fingers would have been spread across the surface of his knees. His entire countenance would have been one of a man resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. Perhaps his eyes shimmered with desperation behind the thick spectacles, his hair hanging lankly in his face.

            He’d assured her last night, as they sat on that bench in the garden, that much of the book was fiction, or at least the truth stretched enormously. But something in his plea to the doctor stood out, that made Seras wonder if this particular passage wasn’t leaning more towards the side of honest-to-goodness truth.

            “ _—For the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my soul from guilt! Can’t you hear me, man? Can’t you understand? Will you never learn? Don’t you know that I am sane and earnest now…?”_ Those words had spoken to her, but she knew that by that point it was too late for him; the honorable Dr. Seward and the others had disregarded his heartfelt plea as the mad ravings of a lunatic.

            And hadn’t he said something along the same lines last night? _But I feel such guilt, and I have such regrets…_ He’d even shed a tear as he’d said it. Even though she had not known him long at all, she did believe that he was being honest when he said he regretted what happened to Alucard.

            In her wearied musings, she must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew she opened her eyes and her body told her that night had truly fallen. She put away her tablet and got dressed silently, trying to pull her former train of thought out of the drudges of sleep. She sat at her small table, staring at her supper with the empty mind of one half-awake. Finally she reached for the first bag and began to drink slowly, fighting the urge to pillow her head on her arms and sleep the night away.

            “Police Girl.” She blinked and sat up, realizing that she’d slumped over the edge of the seat. _Damn! I fell asleep again anyway!_ Alucard looked down at her skewed form on the table with a frown that was more impatient than chastising.

 

            “Yes? What is it?” she replied, unable to keep the edge of sleep from her tone. A book slammed onto the wooden surface, the loud crack jarring some of the foggier thoughts from her mind. She looked at it in puzzlement before meeting his eyes again, wiping her mouth on her sleeve to remove any traces of drool.

 

            “Read.” When she didn’t obey immediately, he sat at the table and crossed one leg over the other, his elbows resting on one knee as he stared impassively at the wall.

 

            “R-read?” she repeated hesitantly, rubbing her thumb over the faded leather binding of the volume before her. “I-I don’t—”

 

            “ _Read_.” His tone of voice suggested that he wasn’t going to ask civilly a third time. She cracked the binding with an impatient expression on her own, wondering what in the world his problem was. It was true that she sometimes felt inclined to read aloud to him, on slow nights when they both had hours to pass and nothing better to do. But she wasn’t a robot; he acted as though he could press a button and have her read passages on demand. Still, it wasn’t like she had a hot date waiting on her, and she doubted he’d give up whatever the hell this was to listen to her read  Draculato him, so she decided to oblige until he managed to shake off his bad mood.

 

            “Alright already,” she grumbled, thumbing through the pages to see what he’d picked out. It was an assortment of old poems— ** _very_** _old poems_ , Seras thought to herself as she perused the table of contents. She only found a small handful that she knew offhand, and the rest were completely foreign to her. Finally, near the index she found an old poem that she had enjoyed reading back in one of her literature classes entitled “The Highwayman”.

 

            She couldn’t remember which orphanage she’d been at when she’d first read the poem—considering the subject matter, she highly doubted it was any of the religious institutions she’d been thrown in from time to time for lack of a better place. In any case, Alucard surely couldn’t have a qualm about her reading this one, since he so loved sad endings. Settling back in her seat, she turned to the page and cleared her throat.

 

            “The Highwayman: Part One,” she announced, and she saw his eyebrows twitch in the smallest gesture of surprise. She ignored him and began to read.

 

_“_ _The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees._

_The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas._

_The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,_

_And the highwayman came riding—_

_Riding—riding—_

_The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”_

           

            She continued to read, allowing the words to flow out of her as naturally as they could come. She was the narrator, and the story was hers to manipulate as she saw fit. The highwayman’s voice was a smooth, dark whisper, the redcoats spoke in cold, high-pitched sneers, the narrator was sympathetic and condemning and gentle and harsh all at once as her voice rose and fell with the climax of the tale.

 

“ _Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard._

_He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred._

_He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there_

_But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,_

_Bess, the landlord’s daughter,_

_Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.”_

 

            There was a pause when she finished, and then the sound of rapid applause made her jump in her chair. She looked incredulously at Alucard, who stared back at her with the same impatient expression he’d worn before. He jerked his head at the door after a moment of her staring blankly at him, and she saw Renfield standing in the threshold, a book nestled beneath one arm as both hands were busy with clapping.

 

            “Encore! Magnificent performance, young lady!” he praised, striding into the room after a moment. Seras colored and looked down at the book, not used to being flattered. “I’m thoroughly impressed.”

 

            “Thank you,” Seras mumbled, meeting Alucard’s eye and seeing the barely constrained anger bubbling behind the crimson irises. She cleared her throat and looked up at him, forcing a smile onto her face. Since her private reading, she had more questions than answers about the man standing in front of them. But one thing she knew for certain—Alucard wouldn’t tolerate him being in close proximity to her for very long if he could find a loophole in his master’s orders. She didn’t need to be connected to his mind to know the gears were turning like mad in there.

            “Pray tell—why, my dear, did you choose that one?” he asked, holding out his own book. She gave him the one in her hand in exchange and opened the pages, finding every one empty and blank. She turned the book over and read the spine: What’s Up Ahead: 2nd Abridged Edition. “There is plenty of excellent poetry in here.” He looked at her and smiled. “Then again, women do enjoy watching doomed-to-fail romance. Cleopatra and Marc Antony, Romeo and Juliet… every nation has its own version that mortals just seem to love. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

 

            “I only chose that because it was familiar, and I liked reading it in school,” Seras explained, feeling a little defensive. Alucard was still sitting in steely silence, but refused to look at her again. She sighed exasperatedly and ignored him.

 

            “All the same, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it told in quite that fashion. Interesting,” he murmured, studying her with a pensive look. “Quite interesting…. Ah, here, I believe this one fits the moment.” He cleared his throat, and then read a different page in a loud, crystal-clear tone.

 

“ _Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease,_

_Still heard in his soul the music of wonderful melodies._

_  
Such songs have a power to quiet The restless pulse of care,_

_And comes like the benediction That follows after prayer._

__  
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice,  
And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.”

            He smiled, the expression serene, as Alucard turned slowly in the chair. The two men regarded each other for a long, silent moment. Seras felt the tension rise, though neither’s face betrayed any emotion other than the calm reflection and nonverbal fury. She felt as though she should do something, but… what?

 

            “Um, what poem was that?” she finally offered timidly, eyes flitting between the pair. Renfield broke eye contact and looked at her, his smile dissolving into an expression that seemed to personify the word “contrite”.

 

            “You won’t find it in _this_ book,” he admitted, handing it back to her and taking his 2 nd abridged copy of blank pages. “To some, a man’s thoughts are poetry enough.” He chuckled to himself, as if indulging in some secretive joke.

 

“Though should you wish to read it in its entirety, you’d do well to search for a fellow by the name of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow… God rest his soul. And do tell me when you plan on performing again, my dear; I wouldn’t object to stopping in to listen to _that_ beautiful voice.” She blushed again, not sure what she’d done to warrant such attentions and at her wits end with how to respond. She finally managed a jerky head movement that was meant to convey gratitude and humility, but looked more like she had a sudden chill.  

 

            He offered them both a half-bow before quitting the room as quickly as he’d entered, leaving them both staring after him. Seras fingered the poetry book, looking at the empty threshold before laughing.

 

            “I believe that I have a better chance of figuring _you_ out before I’ll ever begin to understand him,” she admitted good-humoredly. He growled something under his breath and she wrinkled her nose. “What’s the matter now!?”

 

            “Mercenary girl,” he declared, and she rolled her eyes.

 

            “Well, when you absorb the soul of one, the rest follows suit well enough,” she replied sarcastically. “Be rude to him if you feel like it, but _I’m_ going to be nice to him.” He narrowed his eyes and she arched one brow teasingly. “In fact, I’ll chance your displeasure and say that I think he’s a very good man. He’s got better morals than you, in any case.”

 

            “And yet you claim to be loyal to me.” This earned him a scoff.

 

            “I’m hanging out with you rather than him, aren’t I? You don’t see me off reading books to random people because they threw them down in front of me without so much as a “please”. Only you.” She smirked. “I’d vote for you in a beauty contest. How’s that for loyalty?” He didn’t answer, and she reached out, grabbing his hand and squeezing. He let her hold it for a moment before shaking her off, and she glanced at the clock to see the time. “Does Sir Integra have a mission for us?”

 

            “Not yet. It’s been an unproductive week.”

 

            “Let’s run.” _This_ made him look up at her.

 

            “Where?” he asked her with a frown.

 

            “Brighton, Newcastle, Birmingham…. I don’t care. Let’s just go.” She stood. “No sense wasting the night here.” She glanced again at the clock. “And if we run out of time, we’ll just stay the day in an inn somewhere.”

 

            “What makes you think my master will allow us to gallivant across the countryside without some real reason?”

 

            “What makes you think I’m going to ask her permission?” she retorted with a devilish grin. It was strange, having their roles reversed—him being the voice of reason for once, and her being the one who wanted to go out and have a good time. “We’re responsible adults. Well, I am anyway.”

 

            “And what if we get there and I see fit to wreak a little havoc on the innocents?” he purred viciously, reclining in the chair and looking up at her. “What will you do then?”

 

            “Come up with a convincing cover story,” she answered, not missing a beat. “Come on or stay here, I don’t care. But I’m heading off.”

 

            “Well then, if you really want to commit to this,” he said as he stood, “lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Highwayman is a real poem. Check it out!   
> Also, the poem Renny reads is a real poem. Check it out!   
> Also, Seras' ebook quotes of Renfield are straight from the text of Dracula.   
> ...  
> ...  
> Check it out!


	4. Chapter 4

            Everyone needs a change of pace at times. When Seras felt that her life was getting too monotonous, she ran away. Oh, Sir Integra would always be there to gripe and groan about sunlight and dangers when she ultimately returned, but Seras knew that her actions didn’t bother the old woman as much as she pretended it did. Besides, it was more the journey than the act itself, and she never meant to run away _forever_. She made sure to be home within three days’ time, if she wasn’t back the hour before dawn crested over the hills. It was like a day trip, just confined to the English mainland.

            But while Integra could look the other way when Seras dropped off the face of the earth for a night, Alucard was a different story entirely. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Alucard was incapable of controlling himself, though the thought was always in the back of her mind that this time he might _not_ behave. A slim, almost-nonexistent possibility, but who was to say? After all, he’d come back from a routine mission with a policewoman in his arms; anything could happen when Alucard was involved.

            So instead of just running for it like she usually did, they had to sneak out. It wasn’t as grand a scheme as she thought out in her mind; then again, most real missions hardly were. It was only in the movies that things had to be drawn out and overcomplicated, for the sake of cinema. A real-life operation wouldn’t work if you were flashy and flamboyant about it.

            They did nothing more than walk nonchalantly to the southern gate. No one paid them any mind; humans were always so wrapped up in their own problems that they missed more than half of what was going on around them. Then it was only a matter of hypnotizing the guard into thinking that a common rabbit was acting suspicious enough to stare at it for a long moment, giving them enough time to walk through and lose themselves in the foliage surrounding the manor’s southern borders.  

            They followed the natural path of the forest to the main road before breaking into a run, blurring into nonexistence quickly enough that anyone who did see would have thought that the road was playing tricks on their eyes. They picked up the pace as they followed the freeway down south; Seras had the sensation that she was enjoying this much more than he was, but couldn’t bring herself to care. It was enough to be out under the moon and stars, the illusion of freedom filling her chest with utter glee. Every time she did this she wondered what it would be like to just not go back, but she was too much of a coward to act on any errant thought like that. Besides, she was attached to that old house sentimentally, and Sir Integra would take it personally if she never returned.

            “Hey, race me!” she called to him, picking up speed and vaulting over an eighteen-wheeler as easily as a human could leap across the banks of a small creek. She loved her agility the best of all her vampiric abilities. Technically, she never felt that she ran any faster than when she was a human; she’d always been a quick sprinter. But in her eyes, there was an optical illusion that the rest of the world slowed to a crawl around her when she ran, though the reality was that she now ran so quickly that normal pace was infinitely lagging behind. Cars slowed to a sluggish motion, humans were caught in an unending stop-motion loop, and even the wind in her hair seemed to disappear when she ran for all she was worth.

            He met her pace easily, chuckling in amusement at her thrilled expression. He seemed to be content with watching her, feeding off her excitement and the exhilaration of escaping the place she called home. They dodged vehicles effortlessly, balancing on guardrails and maneuvering in some split-second escapes down the median and between cars. It was dangerous in a way, but not like it would have been if they were humans. The most they’d get was a bit of pain and some skin that would take a few moments to heal: nothing serious.

Finally, he put a bit of effort into his gait and outpaced her easily, despite her effort to catch up. She let him go, surrendering herself to losing a race she could have never won anyway. Probably even as a human he’d have outrun her; she had an innate sense that some of his vast strength came from sheer willpower as well as the leftovers from his human body. After all, he kept the form he had as a human, or a close approximation of it.

Laughing as she shrugged, she let go of the tight rein on her powers as though she were releasing a kite into a strong breeze. She leaped into the air as shadowy wings formed from the shapeless mass arcing and twisting like coils of visible energy in the air around her, placing themselves about where real wings would be between her shoulder blades. She lifted herself and soared above the countryside, breathing in deeply as the stench of London was replaced by the crisp aroma of nature. The moon shined down on sleeping villages and bustling townships where the local clubs were still beating their pulses into the otherwise silent night; her form was a quivering shadow that skirted the edge of these places, flashing by too quickly for impaired humans with bleary, red-rimmed eyes to catch a glimpse.

It was only a half-hour into their ‘escape’ when she saw the first signs for Brighton. She grinned, her nose honing in to catch the first scent of sea-salted air. The excitement built up in her system like a drug; she just couldn’t wait to take a dip in the ocean! If she didn’t want her top getting soaked, she’d just fly out over it and drop down like an army paratrooper who’d forgotten his parachute. If only she’d thought to bring her swimsuit….

She dove back down through a cloud, her face covered in chilly droplets of condensation as she tightened her mental fist over her powers again and dropped in beside Alucard, her feet effortlessly taking up the motion of running again. No matter how long they ran, their muscles didn’t burn with exertion and if their breath was stilted, it was only from their own expectation. Even if one _didn’t_ have working lungs, the brain still expected shortness of breath after sprinting. He saw her and slowed down obligingly to match her pace again.

Soon she could hear the sound of the waves, and the city’s lights twinkled and sparkled like it was made of water as well. They bypassed the city, heading straight for the ocean. She ran to the pebbly beach and stood, taking in the sight and letting it expand to fill her entire being with joy. To her delight there was no one else at the beach, this being the time where people were either sleeping or out enjoying the city nightlife.

She couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off her face, staring out at the ceaseless waves with a sense of wonder and awe. She truly loved the beach; the best thing about it was that you didn’t _have_ to be out in the sun to enjoy all it had to offer. Alucard stood beside her, also watching the shores with a more undefinable expression. He seemed to be lost in thought, so she let him be as she sat on the rocky ground and pulled off her socks, stuffing them down inside her boots and placing them off to the side. She carefully unbuttoned her top and peeled it off as well, placing it neatly on top of the boots. She didn’t mind her undershirt and skirt getting wet; they’d dry quickly enough on the way home.

“Okay! Let’s go!” she shouted enthusiastically, popping up like a spring. She took off running pell-mell down the beach and into the water, ignoring the chilly temperature of the waves. Cold never bothered her anymore; other than the general sensation, the cold couldn’t hurt her and her body adapted well to fluctuations in temperature. It was the _heat_ that she had to watch out for; even standing in the direct sunlight for more than a half-hour could heat her body to hazardous levels, boiling her innards in their own juices and frying her brain like an egg. She could even spontaneously combust like a dried out piece of firewood if she wasn’t careful! But a dead body with inactive organs couldn’t get hypothermia, and while she could get frostbitten she’d have to stay out in the snow and ice for hours on end before it even began to happen.

She pushed herself through the waves, letting them wash up to her knees, then her waist, then her neck, until she couldn’t touch the bottom with anything more than the very tips of her toes. The water surrounded her in a cool, moving embrace and she sighed blissfully, the rocking motion soothing her in a way that was difficult to describe. Since becoming a vampire, she felt much closer to nature than she ever had as a human; it was strange, but she accepted it as one of the few upsides to her fateful decision to go with Alucard instead of just rolling over and dying.

She heard him call out to her, but his words were lost amongst countless bubbles as a wave washed over her head. She was momentarily stunned by the panic-inducing sensation of water rushing into her mouth and nose, but without the need to breath she could move water through her lungs as easily as she could air. She swam beneath the surface, looking at the wavering moonlight trickling down to the shadowy depths of the sandy seafloor. After a long moment of quiet admiration, she resurfaced and treaded the water as she turned to wave to him.

“Come on in! There’s a drop-off, but it won’t be so bad for you since you’re taller.” It was silly, but she desperately wanted him in the water with her; for reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt the need to pull him in with her and let him feel the caress of the waves too. Maybe it was an instinctive thing, wanting him to share in her simplistic happiness.

But as she watched him, she realized all at once that his behavior was increasingly odd and uncharacteristic. He was standing at the edge of the shore, but not close enough to be in the water; the tips of his boots were mere millimeters from the waves’ touch as they lapped across the rocky beach. And yet his body was bent out over the water at an odd angle, as if he meant to dive into the shallows without any proper form whatsoever. Swimming a little closer, she saw that his expression was one of unfiltered shock, his eyes just visible in the shadows of his hat.

“What’s the matter?” she called out, uncertain to what the problem was. Had he seen a shark in the water? Now wasn’t the time for any migrating sea life, but it was always possible that he might have caught a glimpse of something she hadn’t.

“Seras Victoria!” he exclaimed hoarsely, ignoring her question. “Get back her _at once_!” She huffed, nearly calling back to ask why. Something in his tone stopped her and she instead began to obediently swim back, going over possible reasons for his behavior in her mind. Most likely he was going to lecture her about splashing around in the ocean like a foolish child and behaving in a way ‘not befitting her status’. The waves offered her friendly little pushes as she moved back to the earthen shore; eventually she made it to his side, wringing out her skirt and running her fingers through her hair in order to push back her wet bangs. Finally she finished putting herself to rights and smiled up at him.

“What is it?” she asked brightly, hoping to appease his strange attitude. Her smile faltered as he turned his full gaze on her, eyes burning with an emotion that chilled her to the core in a way the waves hadn’t been able to. She found herself unable to look away as the emotion in his eyes faded to a purer form of anger as he glared.

“ _What is it_?” he repeated, the sound too soft to be anything less than dangerous. His hands shot out lightning fast and grabbed her wrists, squeezing hard enough that her bones protested with bolts of pain running up her arms. “What are you, an idiot?” he snarled, face twisting in fury. She blinked, unsure of what brought on such an episode. He was changeable, yes, but usually she had to actually _do_ something before he hurt her!

“Ow!” she squeaked, twisting in his grasp. “You’re hurtingme!” Her voice caught on a high note and he winced at the sound, but didn’t release her. She managed to twist one wrist free eventually, but not the other. She rubbed it on her skirt as if that would make the pain of his touch leave, her feet braced in the sliding sand and shingles while she yanked with all her strength. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! What did I do?” she snapped back at him, voice strained with her efforts and eyes flashing as her own temper flared.

“Vampires _can’t cross running water_ ,” he hissed, eyes narrowing and mirroring hers. “You’ll sink to the bottom of the ocean and _rot_ if you act so foolhardy again!” Confusion mingled with her anger and she redoubled her efforts to free herself. _Why do I even bother hanging out with him_? she howled mentally. _He’s a freaking basket-case!_

“I have no clue what you’re rattling on about!” She felt her shoulder popping out of its socket and tried to take a different approach, her claws slicing into his wrist as she tried to shred his fingers enough that they would let go. “I’ve swam in the ocean for years!” Blood splattered the ground at their feet and coated his gloves and her hands, but still his grip was iron. Shaking her head in frustration, she pulled out her final move; she dared not use this one against him until the last resort, due to his volatile nature.

Her shadows crackled and pushed him back, forming a wall between them and simply snapping off his hand instead of trying to force them apart. With it detached from its owner, the fingers slackened and fell to the ground before dissolving into a swarm of centipedes, burrowing down into the sand. She _felt_ his rage and balked like a lamb before a wolf, turning tail and running back to the place he hadn’t dared to go. The water washed up and she didn’t stop until she was mid-thigh in the ocean. She heard his inhuman growl and a chill ran up her spine; she turned to see him standing at the edge again, angrier than she’d ever seen him in her entire undead existence.

“Come back here!” She stared for a long moment, gathering her courage.

“No!”

“ _Police Girl_!” The rough tone of his voice was like an iron fist gripping her heart and squeezing the air from her lungs. She wasn’t a fool; if she went back now, he’d probably kill her. Or maim her a good bit, at the very least. But here she’d found the one place that she was safe. She shook her head quickly, taking another step back.

“I won’t come!” she declared. “You’ll have to drag me out.” His gaze hardened to a iciness she’d never experienced from him, but she stood tall in the face of his wrath. “You had no right to grab me and throw me around like I’m still your servant!” she pointed out, crossing her arms and feeling the phantom touch of his fingers still evident on her wrists. She knew there were bruises there, but they’d be gone by dawn.

“Independent or not, you’re still beneath me. I am the _king_ ,” he reminded her harshly. She didn’t reply, taking another step back as his shadows made a sudden move. They were fast, but once they hit a certain depth over the water they weakened and fizzled out like dying embers. She blinked in surprise, having fully expected him to grab her and begin reeling her in like a fish. She tried her own powers, but as deep as she was, she was only able to get one or two shadows to form before they too sputtered to an untimely death.

 _So your powers don’t work in the water; maybe there’s truth to that old myth after all. But being a good swimmer is better than supernatural strength any day when it comes to the ocean_ , she thought decisively. _Maybe vampires just aren’t good—wait, does Alucard even know **how** to swim? _ The thought struck her and she deliberated on it while he cursed and ranted at being fifteen feet from her and unable to punish her as he wanted. He summoned hellhounds, but they whined and shied away from the waves, hiding under their master’s coat and gazing ruefully out at her with their eight eyes.

“Fine,” he spat when she still didn’t emerge. “Have it your way.” He disappeared in a cloud of mist, leaving twelve of his hellhounds seated in a row and facing her like the front lines of an army. They watched her tirelessly, and when she moved forward a step they rose as one and snarled so frightfully that it propelled her backwards. She scoffed, used to the shadowy dogs being generally likeable and not at all like this. But every time she made a move to come out of the water, they snarled or let out a fierce baying, living up to their namesakes. She realized what he planned to do; he was going to play her game. She had to either let herself be mauled or let herself be killed when the sun came up over the horizon. He was treating her like a trapped mouse… like an enemy.

“You know what?!” she shouted at them after standing like an idiot for a full minute, processing the severity of his actions. “Tell your master to go fuck himself, because I don’t want anything to do with him anymore!” She felt tears prick her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat, turning her back on the shore. “I’m going to swim the channel to France. If he wants to give me an ultimatum, then…” she couldn’t finish her sentence and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Just screw him. Screw trying to be his friend, trying to be nice to him, anything! I’ll call Sir Integra and tell her that I quit.” She was talking more to herself now, kicking at the waves as they came along. “Don’t need him anyway.”

She went out up to her neck, but then turned around and walked back to the dogs after letting the waves wash over her for a good half hour, unable to completely go through with her impromptu ‘plans’. She kept moving towards the hounds even after they sent up their warning growls, walking until she stood in water that wasn’t even ankle deep. The longer she stared, the less racket they made until they stopped completely, looking at each other before sitting back down. The largest one’s tail made a quick thump on the ground and then they were silent, stoic beings once more.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” She tilted her head; they didn’t move, but their eyes followed the path of her hair as if fell over her shoulder. “You can’t talk. You can only take orders. You’re not even real dogs. You’re just…shadow. I don’t even understand how you can hurt me.” No answer, no movement. She dropped to sit with her knees drawn to her chest, and the one nearest her twitched, but didn’t bark.

“Your stupid master.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Your stupid, nearsighted master.” She trembled in the water. “How many centuries will it have to be before he realizes that doing the same thing over and over is getting him nowhere? Pushing people away, fighting and shouting all the time, never taking a moment to step back and look at something beyond that _idiotic_ black-and-white mindset that he can’t seem to shake off no matter what—” Her voice broke and she sobbed quietly, pulling her knees in closer as she buried her face and hid the dogs from her sight.

“My thoughts exactly.” She looked up with a gasp, red-tinted tears falling from her lashes and onto her sodden skirt. “Now then, I hope you weren’t serious about just _giving up_.” Renfield’s head inclined as he smiled gently. “After all, he needs you more than you need him, and I think you’re just starting to catch on to that.”

“What—What’re you doing here?” she asked falteringly, trying to wipe the tears away discreetly as if he hadn’t already seen them staining her cheeks. “What do you mean?” He was sitting cross-legged on the beach in the midst of the dogs, and though they were all on their feet with hackles raised, not one of them tried to attack. He spared them a quick glance and waved his hand, shooing them over to the far side of the beach.

“Get on with you, rascals,” he chuckled as he sent them scurrying. The largest hung back, and Seras realized that it was the only one that had a collar, crimson as its master’s clothing. Was this one Alucard’s favored pet, perhaps? It blinked and then walked away, looking over its shoulder at Seras before bounding across the sand to join its brothers.

“Now then,” he repeated, turning back to Seras with a sunny smile. “One vampire shaking the foundations of the house in his anger, the other AWOL, and a power flux on a moonlit beach in Brighton? Hmm, could those all be connected?” he teased. “I came to do what I do best: poking my long nose into Alucard’s business.” He tapped the side of his nose for emphasis. “As for what I mean… what do _you_ think that I mean?”

“I don’t know,” she whined, trying (and failing) to sound like an adult when she did so. “I’m not the insane one around here.”

“I’m really _not_ insane,” he laughed. “Just a little touched in the head.” She threw up her hands.

“You _are_ insane!” she shouted, standing up. “Alucard’s insane! Sir Integra’s insane! Those Nazis, and Walter, and those other guys that tried to turn the army into Ghouls, and that Dandy Man—you’re all insane!” she heard her voice getting higher and higher as she screeched. “Every damn FREAK that I’ve killed has been insane! I’m the only sane one around here!” She was out of breath now, realizing that she didn’t _look_ very sane, standing in the ocean and yelling at the top of her lungs while covered in bloody tearstains and seawater. Her hands fell as she looked down at her bare feet, swallowing hard. “I want to go back and never join D-11, so that I would never have gone to Cheddar and I’d never have joined this circus of looneys.”

“But you can’t go back,” he rationalized, standing and dusting off his khakis. “You can never go back. Time travel is strictly forbidden, in every plane of existence. Only beings like me can go back and forth, and even then we’re watched _very_ carefully to make sure that we keep history as accurate as possible.”

“I know that,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “But I still wish—” she felt the lump return to her throat and she sniffed. “I still wish I’d never met Alucard. He hurt me,” she admitted, motioning to her wrists. “And when I get back, he’ll kill me.”

“He won’t.”

“He will!” She looked up at him angrily. “You know, you’re the one who’s supposed to be watching him. Why do you let him hurt me like that!? Why didn’t you do something?” Another thought entered her mind and she blurted it out without thinking. “And another thing: why didn’t you stop him during the Blitz? You knew that he was going to vanish! You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t you save him from the Major? And why didn’t you save him from Van Helsing? You could have broken him out of the magic restraints, couldn’t you? You’re something better and bigger than a vampire, and yet you’re—” she fought for words, “you’re _useless_!”

The entire time she shouted, he stood silently and watched her with an unwavering gaze. His face was neutral, showing no real emotion other than an interminable patience that she would have given her other arm to have. That quiet expression, and what it entailed— _that_ was what kept him from just out and killing Alucard, she was sure. The truest meaning of that phrase ‘patience of a saint’.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted when he still said nothing, blushing sheepishly. “I—I didn’t mean it.”

“Precisely,” he answered her. “You _didn’t mean it_. How much do you think that Alucard means, when he grabs you like that?” He picked up her hand and turned it over, looking at the pale skin with the faintest discoloration left from its healing.

“All of it.” She wasn’t being sarcastic, either. He glanced up from her wrist, the smallest frown on his face as he studied hers.

“Well…he certainly doesn’t have my patience, or your fortitude. In fact, that’s one thing that he’s severely lacking in, and always will be. It’s go hard or go home to him, isn’t it? Haven’t you noticed?” She nodded and he tugged her back to the rocky shore, sitting her down next to him as he drew lines with his finger, adjusting his glasses.

“I am supposed to be watching him. I don’t stop him because I know that you can handle anything he throws at you, and more. You thought to run back into the water, didn’t you?” he asked, and she didn’t answer. “I didn’t stop him during the Blitz because my orders said to not interfere. I was merely to observe, which I did. I’ve told you as much before.” He glanced at her again. “I did know,” he admitted quietly.

“Please, no more,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just got angry at Alucard, but took it out on you.” There was a warm tongue on her face and she jumped to see the biggest dog standing next to her. She patted it on the head and it wiggled its body beneath her chin, tail going wild and whining happily instead of snarling.

“I also know,” Renfield added with a deep breath as he jumped back to his feet, “that he won’t kill you. He likes that face you make.” She looked up from the dog.

“What face?”

“The determined one. Whenever he gets mad and you just stand there, looking a little sad and mostly unafraid even after he’s thrown a big fit, and you _still_ manage to argue your point after he’s yelled in your face—that’s what he enjoys about you.”

“No offense, but I can’t believe that insubordinance is his favorite thing about me,” she replied incredulously.

“I never said it was his _favorite_ thing about you!” Renfield exclaimed. “I only said that he enjoys it. The first time he saw it on you, he was so surprised that he forgot to punish you. _That_ was in a hotel in Rio de Janiro. Well, that and the fact that there were other men there; he worried that you weren’t strong enough to hold your own, so his bigger priority was to get you on the roof and away from the ground floor,” he shrugged dismissively. “In the end, by the time he remembered punishment, it was a little late on the mark.”

“What is his favorite thing about me?” He looked surprised, then his face smoothed back out into its enigmatic grin.

“Shouldn’t you be asking _him_ that?” he pointed out.

“He wouldn’t tell me if I did ask,” she countered. “Please? Pretty please?” To her surprise, it was his cheeks that were tinged pink instead of hers.

“Well… who can say no to an angelic face like that?” he finally gave in, scratching his chin. “You’re quite adorable, Miss Seras Victoria, though I suppose you don’t often think about it. You’re not really his type, to be honest. It does make me wonder sometimes,” he said bluntly as he walked over, holding out his hand and pulling her to her feet. “His favorite thing about you is… this,” he declared, pressing one finger to her chest. “I must admit, it’s also _my_ favorite thing about you.” She looked down.

“My—my breasts?” she asked in confusion. Renfield didn’t seem like a perverse sort of man, especially since he claimed to work for God, or the Being, or whatever It was. But she supposed that anyone could be tempted enough to—

“Heavens, no!” he guffawed, shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter. He removed his finger and chucked her chin lightly. “Silly girl, I meant your _heart_.”

“My heart?” Now she was even more confused. “Alucard likes my heart? I mean, I can see you liking me for it,” she added quickly when one of his eyebrows rose. “But Alucard’s not really the sort of man I thought would care about people’s personalities.”

“You’d be surprised.” He shrugged again. “As a human, he abhorred liars, thieves, and their ilk. No, he likes you because you’re pure, and kind, and loyal,” he explained. “Even if he pretends that you’re none of those, deep down he knows that no matter how horrible he is to you, you’re never going to lose that spark that’s _you_ , deep down. It’s something that he wasn’t able to keep, and seeing it in someone like you reminds him that he should feel some sort of emotion every once in a while.” With sudden clarity, the face he made whenever she was brokenhearted by something he said or did came back to her, floating in her mind’s eye. That was—was it?

“I suppose the correct term would be that he likes your soul,” Renfield acknowledged. “After that, it’s your strength, then your exuberance, _then_ your breasts.” He looked almost embarrassed. “I can think of many redeeming qualities that go before body shape, but mortal men haven’t changed in centuries, and I doubt that they’ll change anytime soon.”

“Well…” Seras huffed a little, sounding somewhat amused. “Considering Master _is_ a male, my breasts being fourth on his list isn’t bad at all.” She thought a bit fondly of Pip’s perverted behavior before the London Blitz, though it had aggravated her to no end at the time. “If I didn’t want to kill him right now, I’d even say that I was flattered.”

“But there are so many more _beautiful_ things about you than two pillows of blood and tissue,” he said with a sad sigh. “If you were to die, they’d disintegrate into ash just like the rest of you. But your _soul_ ; that is what will live on.” He paused, nose wrinkling. “I don’t care much for souls, indeed. Well, the quality of them _is_ nice, but I couldn’t use them if I had them, so they’re best left to the Deity.”

“So you don’t have a soul?” Seras asked, something deep within the question giving her the chills. Maybe it was instinctive to be wary of this strange man, who had lived so many lives and seen so many things. She thought about his look of fascination as he spoke of seeing a guillotine in action; could it be that this friendly, gentle person was really as sadistic and unfeeling as Alucard? _No,_ she decided firmly. _No, because he can feel guilt where Alucard refuses. That makes him more empathetic, not less._

“Not in the way you mean, my dear. My soul is more…” he made a motion with his hands that she couldn’t quite decipher. “But mortal souls—those I have _no_ interest in a‘tall.” He shrugged. “After all, I can’t eat them, or….” He paused, a look of recollection passing across his features before he fell silent. “Never mind,” he said quietly, with a shake of the head. “I shan’t go there.”

There was a loud sound that jolted her eardrum as the large dog came back with his pack, tail thumping against her leg as he stared intently at her, and then at the horizon. She looked to see dawn wasn’t far off—she might even be in the sunlight on her way back. She winced not wanting the raw sting of sunburns to accompany her to bed. When she didn’t move, four of his eyes narrowed and he raised his head, letting out a long, drawn out howl that resembled a wolf more than a dog.

At the sound, the pack turned as one and began digging. She watched them dig—well, all except one, who flipped on its back and began to wiggle on the sand trying to catch an itch. She frowned; well, they might have been Alucard’s shadows, but they still had the intelligence of dogs. The howl startled Renfield from his introspective stupor and he peered around her shoulder to watch the animals going at it, their claws finding purchase first in rough pebbly sand, and then the cool, hard-packed stuff beneath.

"What... are they doing?" Seras murmured, mostly to herself. Well, obviously it was a hole, but that looked like an awful lot of determination and coordination for a simple hole to be a hole.

“Why, they’re digging your grave!” He began to laugh lowly in her ear, a slow, repetitive hawing that made shiver crawl afresh up and down her arms. Then the laughter evened into a loud chuckle that made her turn around and put three steps between them. “Oh. Oh my, you—your grave!” he crowed happily, holding his stomach. “Dearie me! How funny!”

“That’s not funny!” she screeched, feeling some major concern for him. _He really is a nutcase!_ “What in the world are you talking about? I thought you said Alucard would get over it; why does he want me to be buried alive on the beach? This isn’t some sort of game!” she snarled when her words only made him laugh harder.

“Oh, do forgive me,” he apologized, wiping his eyes beneath his glasses. They rode up as his fingers rubbed his ducts and she saw a flash of silver that struck her to the core. Before she was fully mesmerized, the lenses slid back into place and she blinked as the world around her came into focus once more. She couldn’t hold back a shudder that racked her frame. _What—what would happen if he looked at me without his glasses?_ she wondered, but was afraid to ask. Her instincts warned her it would be like opening a far more dangerous version of Pandora’s Box.

“I _think_ that they’re digging you a hole to hide from the sun in,” he explained, pulling her from her thoughts. “Seeing as you’re not being accosted by the pack, I assume Alucard hasn’t given them the ‘OK’ to drag you hell.” He looked out at the first rays shining above the horizon. “Still, let’s head back, shall we?”

“Alright.” She tentatively held out her hand and he looped his arm through hers, pulling her close and patting her hand where it rested naturally on his bicep. He smiled at her. “Renfield?”

“Yes?” She felt it was a stupid question to ask, but couldn’t ignore the incentive. “What is it?”

“Are you—are you _positive_ that you’re not insane?” He tilted his head questioningly. “I mean, I know what you said the night we met, about how anyone who thinks that supernatural creatures exist is already a little crazy, and that’s not what I mean. I mean in the most literal sense. Are you unable to handle your own thought processes, and have no control over your own actions?”

“If that’s your definition of insane,” he replied calmly, pushing his glasses up his nose, “then by all means I’m perfectly sane and rational. But sanity evolves—the definition of it changes over time. So my answer will change too, depending on where I am.” He looked towards the heavens, his brow wrinkling as he thought. “In those days, I was as mad as a hatter. Now, perhaps I’m less so.” He closed his eyes and she felt a power growing between them, pulsing and twisting to conform to the shape of their bodies. It quickly overwhelmed her and she screwed her eyes shut as well. As the beach dropped from beneath her feet and she was left dangling in a void of nothing, her only attachment to any world being his arm, she thought she heard him say something else.

“Or maybe the rest of this world has just gone insane by now, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renny is half-quoting his own words to Dr. Seward when he's speaking to Seras about souls.   
> He really makes you wonder what insanity really is, huh?


	5. Chapter 5

            Traveling via Renfield was strange.

During the few times where Alucard had phased with her, holding tightly to her arms and forcing her power through her veins, there had been the unmistakable sense of movement. But with Renfield, it was as if they stood still while he moved the world _around_ them. It was disorienting, to say the least. When they finally stopped, she found herself standing outside Hellsing manor with a churning stomach and blurry vision.

                        “Ah, I forget that the first time can be—as they say in the current vernacular—one hell of a ride.” He tightened his hold on her arm, holding her upright until her eyes stopped spinning and she was able to see the correct number of everything. “You’re alright then?”

           

            “Yeah,” she managed to gasp. “Yeah, uh… I think so.” She still felt woozy, but the feeling was passing the longer she stood in one place. “Wow.”

           “Wow, indeed!” he laughed good-naturedly. The chuckles trailed into nothing and he eyes her speculatively. “I was thinking on the journey,” he told her pointedly, “about something or another.” He rubbed his chin. “Seeing as it pertains to my current assignment, I believe it wouldn’t be too much to get permission,” he muttered to himself, seeming to forget that she was standing next to him. “It certainly wouldn’t _hurt_ to ask; and showing her… yes, that would be the best thing to do, wouldn’t it? I believe that it would, at least.” He was holding an entire conversation with himself, eyes focused on the distance as he stared ahead, mouth hanging open slightly whenever he paused to think.

            “R-Renfield?” Seras touched him on the arm, expecting him to jump. Instead, he seemed perfectly aware of his surroundings and only put his hand on top of hers, his fingers bleeding a lukewarmth into her corpselike ones. “Is everything alright in there?” she half-joked.

            “Absolutely, absolutely,” he murmured, patting her hand. “Just muddling over a few nondescript details about this and that. Very important when you’re trying to duck unseen under the red tape, you know.”

            “I’m afraid I don’t know.” Why was she even humoring him at this point? She smiled weakly, wondering if his not-crazy craziness was somehow catching.

            “Take my word for it.” He blinked twice and swung his head around, hair flopping lankly against his forehead. “In any case, to-day I’d like to show you something. It’s been on my mind since you brought it up a while ago, you see.” He chewed his lip. “I might not be able to get permission, but I don’t see why you couldn’t take a looksee and garner a few unbiased opinions of your own.” He paused. “If you’ll permit me, of course,” he added sheepishly. “Would you— _like_ to see?”

            “Do we have to travel like that again?” she asked, her stomach giving a small, defiant roll in the face of another one of his displays. He gave her a toothy smile, but shook his head. “Alright then; I’ll go. What time should I be ready?”

            “Oh, no, no, no,” he tutted, shaking his head with each syllable. “Don’t you worry about _that_. You leave the particulars to me. Just go to bed at your usual hour, and once everything’s ready I’ll see to you myself.” He paused again. “Of course, there’s always the smallest chance that my superiors will say no. In that case, I’ll go ahead and apologize for any resulting disappointment on your part.”

            “Oh! Um, I’m… I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she laughed awkwardly, scratching her head. She was feeling crusty from the seawater and tired from crying and throwing her little tantrum on the beach. She was just ready to shower and go to bed, especially if she had to get up early to go with him to go see whatever it was that he wanted her to see.

He grinned brightly and then, almost impulsively, grabbed both her hands and kissed the knuckles of each in a reverent sort of way. She blinked in surprise, mouth opening to ask what was wrong, but he disappeared in the span of her eyelids opening and shutting. She was left alone on the deserted grounds, the gray light of dawn pressing further into the sky and coloring the clouds with the faintest of blushes.

“A-alright then.”

* * *

“ _Where in God’s name have you **been**_!?” Seras knew this was coming, but Integra was more agitated than usual. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why; even before entering the house, the vampiress could feel the weight bearing down on the walls and the sheer anger of the basement’s occupant. “Alucard’s tearing up a storm, I couldn’t find _either_ of you _or_ Mr. Renfield, and now I’m dealing with hellhounds snapping at the ankles of anyone who even triesto go into the basement!” The cigar between her fingers snapped and she slammed a hand on the desk. “ _Well_?!”

“I went to the beach,” she answered honestly. “As for Mr. Renfield, he came to rescue me after Alucard marooned me in the ocean and left me for the sun.” It was as if she flipped a switch in the older woman’s mind; immediately the face softened, anger vanishing behind concern.

“What?” The heiress’s face scrunched up in puzzlement. “Marooned? What on earth?” She tilted her head. “Why would he do something like that?” Seras shrugged and shook her head, peeling the glove off one hand to check her wrist. It was healed by now, the skin flawless as if it had never been bruised.

“We got into an argument and he lost his temper…” she trailed off, trying to find the words she needed in the tumult of her mind. “He—I don’t know, he just—” She crossed her arms, lips in a tight, thin line. “I just _don’t know_ , Sir,” she repeated louder. “Why does he do any of the things he does?”

“Seras—”

“It’s alright, Sir Integra,” she interrupted, forcing a small smile on her face. “I can handle it. Don’t worry about me.” She stood there a moment longer, smiling like a complete fool. “Is that all you needed? I’m sorry for worrying you; I just needed to get out of the house for a bit.”

“Well—yes, that’s all.” She muttered something that sounded like “kill that damnable vampire” before waving her away with a harried motion. Seras turned and walked out of the room, waiting until she got down the hall before breaking into a stomping jog that stormed like a dervish through the main hall and foyer. The hounds standing guard in the shadows of the basement stairwell growled, but she snarled fiercely enough that even _they_ scattered, red eyes startled as they let her through and began harassing a poor lab technician instead.

            She slammed the door to her bedroom and stalked straight to the bathroom, slamming that door as well and mentally challenging him to even _dare_ step a foot in her direction. If he could still hear her she was sure he’d probably have taken her up on it just out of spite, but since her mind was her own again, she was left alone. He knew she had returned, though; even if the stomping and slamming hadn’t told him, the dogs would have. The pipes groaned extra loudly in answer and she had to kick the wall and muffle a scream of frustration before she could even get the shower to turn on. The water wouldn’t turn cold and she gave a few extra stomps before stopping and leaning her head against the tile.

            _God in Heaven, if you do exist, even as a Great Being or book reader or **something** , let a beam fall on his head and kill him. _Nothing happened, and she sighed. _Well, at least help me get some hot water, since thou shalt not kill and all that._ There was a sound in her ears—it might have been the water hitting the shower curtain, but it sounded like breathy laughter. When she heard it, words popped up unbidden in her mind. _Ask, and it will be given to you._

There was an even louder groan that sounded as if the pipe itself was being rent in two, and then she burned herself as hot water burst from the faucet. Cursing, she shook her hand as the burn healed almost immediately. _Ouch! Damnit… I mean, thanks, I guess._ She adjusted the temperature, still flexing her healed fingers, and then stripped down out of her damp clothing.

She stood beneath the hot stream of water, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as it washed the night’s stress away. She couldn’t help but smile, the warm water massaging her scalp and making her feel clean. She leaned back against the wall, not bothering about breathing as the water ran over her face. Steam built up in the room, warming her body to something almost human. Even the tiles were nice and warm against her back, holding her upright while she decided that if it wouldn’t cause an outrageous water bill, she’d just go to sleep in this stream of warmth and physical comfort.

Her waist itched and she reached down to scratch it, nose wrinkling. She rubbed the skin, feeling for something that might have tickled her. _I’ll be damned if there’s not some weird sea leech or a crazy insect on my back or something_ , she grumbled. She finally gave up and looked down to see her waist bare and clean as always, her side looking just as usual with the soft curve of her hip, thin arm, two shoulders… two shoulders?

She blinked at the anomaly, not understanding at first. Two—two—oh. Her smile slipped from her face as she looked straight ahead, realizing that maybe the tile wasn’t quite so warm after all. When she couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer she looked straight up, head hitting the not-tile as she stared at a long nose, two angry crimson eyes, and a wet crop of tangled locks. She took a shuddering breath, not sure if she was more surprised, angry, or just plain tired of the never-ending cycle of lunatic shenanigans that seemed to be in such abundance in this house.

“How did you do that?” She shook her head, glaring up at him.

“What? I didn’t do it. Get out,” she muttered, before remembering that she was in the shower. She gasped and shadows burst from beyond the shower curtain to cover her in a black, writhing, makeshift towel as she spun around, backing to the opposite end of the porcelain tub. “ _What the hell are you doing!?_ Get out!” she hissed, hands splayed against the opposite tiles.

“Not until you tell me how you undermined my power,” he snapped. He was materialized waist-up from the wall as he stared her down. He didn’t even seem to notice that she was naked, or that he was soaked to the bone from the water spewing overhead. His white shirt clung to him as he leaned one arm against the adjoining wall.

“You’re insane!” she shouted, throwing her hands up. “Absolutely fucking insane! I’m in the shower; it’s private time, not to share, get out, get _out_ …” He didn’t move and she gathered all the air in her lungs that she could. It was time to do something she only did so rarely that she could count the instances on one hand—she was about to _make a scene_. She squared her shoulders, planting her feet as best she could against the wet sides of the tub as she puffed out her chest.

“ ** _GET OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!”_** She put every ounce of lung power behind her scream, and her own vampiric power as well. The foundation shook, everything not bolted down to the floor rattling as it clattered across the counters and tables and desks throughout the manor. The windows clattered, mirrors cracked, pipes screeched, grounds quaked, bushes trembled, tree limbs snapped, shingles quivered, glass crunched, and lights flickered.

The soldiers shouted and scrambled for cover, Sir Integra jumped clean out of her chair and cursed up a storm, the Cook squealed in alarm and accidentally threw an entire bottle of oregano into the stew, the head maid began to cry out of surprise alone, the hellhounds ran for the safety of the shadows with their tails between their legs, the head butler covered his ears and tsked “oh dear, she’s making a _scene_ ”, and Renfield was so astonished at the uproar that his gardening sheers missed and he snipped a rosebud clean off its stem.

Alucard’s eyes widened considerably during the entire scream (which, lasting only about 60 seconds, seemed to be much longer), and near the end he seemed actually _alarmed_ , as well as slightly impressed. When she was finished and silence reigned, he stuck a finger in his ear and winced.

“You certainly do know how to keep one’s ears ringing, Police Girl,” he growled quietly. “You’ve nearly given me a headache.”

“ _Seras_! _Seras Victoria_!” There was a fierce pounding on the door, and Sir Integra sounded as though she were about to just knock the damn thing out of her way entirely. “What the hell’s going on in there!?”

“Make him get out of my room!” she shouted back, pointing a finger at Alucard even though the woman couldn’t see it. There was a pause, and then:

“Alucard! Get the hell out of her room! Come here _this instant_!” as well as something along the lines of ‘babysitting _children_ , like I’m their damned _mother_ or something’. Alucard snarled and vanished, and she tore back the shower curtain as though it were holding her back from shouting any louder.

“I _hate_ you, you know!” Both were quiet as she screamed at the top of her lungs, though not nearly as loudly as she had before. “I hate you to the bone, and I never want you anywhere near me again!” So what if she was behaving childishly? So what if Renfield thought that he needed her? So what if he liked her _soul_ or boobs or even her damn hair!? She was done with this stupid house and its stupid Count!

“Well, you heard her,” She heard Sir Integra sniff haughtily. “Unless she changes her mind, I don’t want you anywhere near her, either. There’s a nice little word called ‘boundaries’, vampire, and you desperately need to learn them. Personally, I’m glad she’s not one to—” Anything else was lost on her as Integra moved away from the door, presumably escorting Alucard down to his chambers with a proper English lecturing.

She grunted and slapped the side of the shower, breaking two of the tiles off and cracking a third. _If I stay here any longer, I’m going to go mad._

“Well, there you have it.” Renfield sat on the stone bench in the garden, the rosebud in his palm. “You heard yourself what it was.” He paused, as if listening to some unseen, unheard second person. “Oh, yes, she’s got _quite_ the temper. Originally, I was surprised that anyone dared stand up to him like that. But the longer I stay here, the more I see—” He broke off and listened again, nodding and fingering the edge of one petal gently.

“Ah, so that’s how it is.” He nodded again, eyes glittering in comprehension. “Thank you for sharing that; it clears up a lot.” He tilted his head. “New orders? O-Oh, no, no, that won’t be necessary. I’d do that anyhow. I’ve grown quite fond of her, I daresay. If he tried to—oh, no, I wouldn’t worry about _that_. I assure you that I’d take care of it before it got _that_ far. He probably wouldn’t bother with her, anyway.”

“So, I may?” He smiled. “Thank you, thank you. Oh, yes, I remember the rules. She’ll be safe in my hands. I’m just going to let her see a bit of it, anyway.” He listened and his face grew pensive. “Well, I thought that maybe she would like to see for herself. She’s a hands-on sort of girl, you see. No, I’m sure of that much. Otherwise I wouldn’t go to such lengths.” He chuckled.

“Well, what can I say? Greater love hath no man… so perhaps it takes a vampire.” He jerked, flushing. “F-facetious? Me? No, I mean every word; I swear it!”

* * *

“Seras? Seras, you should probably get up now, and not sleep through the whole thing.” Seras opened her eyes, blinking as she sat up. The world focused and she squealed in alarm, jumping off the filthy cot as a cockroach crawled across the matted bedding. Where was her nice, clean coffin? Where was her safe bedroom? This place—what was this place?

            They were in a tiny cell, with just enough room to walk around. There was the dirty bed, a tiny table, a stool centered in the middle of the room, a locked door on the far wall, and a barred window raised high against the ceiling, but not so high that one couldn’t reach it. She put a hand over her mouth as the stench from the air outside came to her in a rush—fresh air? Bah, that smelled like smoke and barn animals and unwashed people. She could hear moaning and sighing from beyond the door, and her claustrophobia began to sit in as she stared at the four tiny, equal walls with its dingy bricks and stone flooring.

            “Welcome to Carfax Asylum, my dear.” Renfield sat on the edge of the cot as though it were a pristine, king-sized bed and not a squalid piece of mattress covered in semi-clean sheets and a flat pillow. “Don’t be alarmed by the décor,” he added when he saw her staring. “It’s really first-rate, for the late 1800s.”

            “C-Carfax? Asylum?” Seras turned in a circle, unable to do much more than stare. “I—I—” she shuddered, rubbing her arms as if trying to wipe away imaginary filth.

            “Oh, come now,” he cooed. “Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of a few mad people. You should know by now that half this house isn’t really insane—they just see and know more than the average human should.”

            “But, I mean, isn’t that where you…?”

            “Oh yes, I stayed quite a night here in my day. This is just _one_ of those nights. I’ve been given permission to show you it.” He looked generally pleased with himself, and she decided that smugness didn’t become him. “It is a rare privilege for anyone, so you should feel honored that they granted it.”

            “But I thought you said that you couldn’t go back!” she exclaimed. “That it was against the rules!”

            “It is, if you _change_ the past. But you’re technically not here. You don’t exist yet. You’re a shadow, stuck on the wall. The poor people housed in this place could see you, I don’t doubt, but our ‘sane’ friends will not even glance in your direction.” He moved to his stool, sitting on it and letting out a slow breath. “Ah, how I’ve missed this stool. I asked if I could take it with me, but they said no. we’re not supposed to carry things from assignment to assignment. It messes with the Time flow, you see.” He laughed. “If I carried a mobile to the era of Caesar, I’d be in big trouble indeed!”

            “So _this_ is what you wanted to show me.” He nodded solemnly and she looked around before hugging herself. “What should I do? Am I going to be in the way?” He looked around as well before motioning to the bed.

            “If you sit there, I doubt anyone would have to pass through you. You wouldn’t feel it, per say, but they might get a bit of a chill. It happens sometimes, when things on other planes intersect. Some people say that its ghosts, but really you could be passing through another plane’s fax machine and not realize it.” She meant to reply, but the door opened and a man entered.

            He was tall, slender but broad shouldered, with dark wavy hair that was tucked neatly behind his ears. He turned and Seras saw his nose, large and flat as if he’d run into something at one point and it never fixed. Thin lips, a high forehead, bushy eyebrows, and piercing eyes that weren’t unkind as they stared at the man on the stool from behind thin lenses. He was dressed in a nice suit pants and shirt, but without the suitcoat and tie. He adjusted one suspender, scratching his unshaved chin as he looked right past Seras without a single movement to make her believe she was seen.

            “Well now, Renfield,” the man said softly, looking at him with the air of a scientist. Renfield inclined his head, now wholly ignoring Seras as well.

            “Dr. Seward. I hope you’re well this afternoon.” Seras started and turned—sure enough, there was faint sunlight streaming through the window. She’d stood in it, but it hadn’t burned so she hadn’t noticed it. _Oh yeah, I guess I’m on another plane, right?_

            “Perfectly so. If you don’t mind, there’s a lady here who wishes to see you.” Renfield blinked as if surprised.

            “Why?” he asked, serene as ever. _How could they ever think that he was mad?_ Seras thought as she stared at him. _He’s just as normal as anyone else!_ The doctor looked amazed as well, and looked down at his notebook before looking back up and clearing his throat.

            “Erm, well…” he faltered, forehead wrinkling. “She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in in it.” Renfield nodded as if this was all well and good.

            “Oh, very well. Let her come in, by all means; but just wait a minute ‘till I tidy up the place.” He stood and walked to the desk, where a box lay. Seras watched curiously as he opened it up, and then tilted his head back. She had to look away as he swallowed the spiders in the box, catching a buzzing fly and eating that as well. He turned her way as he motioned to the doctor, winking subtly.

            “You’re awful,” she whispered, even though she knew the doctor couldn’t hear her.

            “No,” he drawled teasingly. “Perfectly nutritious.” He turned to the doctor fully now. “Let her come in!” he called cheerfully, with the usual vigor that Seras already knew so well. He sat down next to Seras, and she felt the bed move as he lowered his head. With his head at that angle, he could move his lips without being seen while the doctor prepared for the visitor. “Alright so far?”

            “Yes, I am.” Seras turned to look at him, seeing that his eyes were focused on the door. “Is it Mina Harker?”

            “Wait and see.” Seras sighed, but obediently waited. The doctor returned, this time with a young woman in tow. Seras stared hard at the girl, mapping out every detail. If this was Mrs. Harker (and she was almost positive that it was), she looked nothing like she had imagined. She was small, smaller than Seras, exceedingly frail and wan. She had dark shadows beneath her eyes and an expression that spoke of a great deal of stress in a short period. She was dressed in a light-colored gown, a small hat pinned above a blonde bun. The woman eyed Renfield curiously as she adjusted her gloves, mouth opening slightly in awe. Renfield, on his part, only nodded genially at her. After a moment of sizing each other up, she walked over and held out her hand with a pleasant smile.

            “Good evening, Mr. Renfield,” she said in a soft, quiet voice that held no bite or judgment whatsoever. “You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you,” she added. She seemed almost shy as Renfield didn’t reply. Instead he kept staring at her beyond the point of polite study, a small frown on his face that lightened into a look of wonder, and then doubt. He tilted his head as he took her hand and questioned her.

            “You’re not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can’t be, you know, for she’s dead,” he pronounced firmly, as if everything in his heart was settled on the matter. The doctor blushed and looked completely baffled, but the young woman only continued to beam at him as though he were her closest friend.

            “Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker,” she pronounced slowly. Renfield took this all in and then the frown returned.

            “Then what are you doing here?” he asked with genuine curiosity. Seras was surprised at his ability to pretend as if he didn’t know. Perhaps he just fell back into character, or was he perfectly able to be the Mr. Renfield of this time era as well as the Renfield that she knew simultaneously? She pondered it and almost missed the next part of the conversation.

            “My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward.” Renfield aahed and then released her hand, turning away slightly. Seras could see the shadow of guilt pass over his face, though it was turned from the two others in the room.

            “Then don’t stay,” he responded quietly.

            “But why not?” she asked, brow furrowing. The doctor stepped between them with a stern air, having recovered from his embarrassment.

            “ _How_ did you know I wanted to marry anyone?” he demanded. Renfield paused, looking at Mrs. Harker for a moment before turning his eyes to the doctor, gracing him with a very contemptuous glare. Seras was shocked at the frigidity of the look; she’d expect that from Alucard, but not from Renfield. Was this the part he played, or did he really hate the good doctor?

            “What an asinine question!” he exclaimed at once, voice booming in the small room. Mrs. Harker arched a brow.

            “I don’t see that at all, Mr. Renfield,” she said quickly, coming to the doctor’s aid. His face smoothed back into civility as he addressed her again.

            “You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honored as our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little ‘community’. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects.” He scratched his nose and sniffed.

            “Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the errors of _non causa_ and _ignoratio elenchi_.” Seras laughed out loud as the doctor’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping as he stared incredulously at the man sitting benignly on the stool.

            Stop teasing them, Mr. Renfield,” she joked. His head gave a little jerk in her direction, but he didn’t give any notice that he heard her. Mrs. Harker gave a small laugh and then shifted, making herself more comfortable.

            “Well, my good Mr. Renfield, Dr. Seward tells me that you are a zoophagous maniac that eats lives. Is that so?” Renfield crossed his legs and rested his laced fingers against his knee, peering up at her with the same gentle smile he showed so often to Seras.

            “Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief.” The lady tilted her head inquisitively and he continued. “Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter how low on the scale of creation, one my indefinitely prolong life.”

            “Used to fancy it, but now believe it wholeheartedly?” Seras muttered to herself, trying to decide where he was going with this. It wasn’t that it wasn’t interesting to see these sorts of memories, but what did this have to do with her? And furthermore, his mission?

            “At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to take _human_ life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his blood—relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, “For the blood is the life”.” The doctor gave an involuntary shudder, but didn’t try to stop Renfield from speaking. He seemed to be more interested on writing down what the ‘lunatic’ was saying.

            “Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarized the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn’t that true, doctor?” Mrs. Harker turned and the doctor nodded silently, his expression one of complete mystification. He seemed to be able to do little more than continue writing. He looked down at his watch and then started out of his trance.

            “Oh my, the time. Mrs. Harker, I’m afraid we must leave for the station now.” She nodded immediately, turning to speak to Renfield one last time.

            “Goodbye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself,” she said kindly, laying a hand on his head. He sighed, taking it and holding it loosely, looking at the pristine white glove fondly.

            “Goodbye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again.” He sighed again, and Seras felt the weight of the exhale from where she sat. Her idea that he could be both Renfields at once seemed to gain some standing. “May he bless you and keep you!” She nodded and the doctor took her by the shoulder, leading her out the door. Renfield let her hand slip from his and stared after her until the door shut quietly behind them.

            “Renfield?” Seras got up and moved towards him. He hung his head, hands resting in his lap as his shoulders slumped. His entire body sagged down, burdened by an invisible weight. She stepped closer, hesitating before tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t understand. What is it? What’s wrong?” There was a long silence, punctuated by the clatter of cartwheels outside the window and the occasional moan of an inmate.

            “I never said…that my job was easy,” he claimed, so softly that she could barely hear him. “Humans find peace in God. It is the same God who gives me orders. Where, then, can _my_ peace come, when my actions create such tragedy for all involved?” His shoulders began to shake. “I oftentimes think to myself—but what can be done? I had to follow my standing orders. I _had_ to!” His voice broke and he covered his face with his hands, sobbing quietly.

            “R-Renfield….” Seras felt a lump in her own throat, moving her hand from his shoulder to his hair and brushing her fingers through the lanky softness. “Don’t cry, Renfield. You can do like I do—find peace through your own strength. Just think about how many people you _helped_ , not how many you might have hurt. If you hadn’t have done what you did, Alucard would be…well, he wouldn’t be Alucard, and he’d probably have done more really bad things instead of being caught and wrangled into behaving himself for a couple of decades.”

            “Yes, I know, but I—” he sniffed, sitting up and shaking her hand away. “I have to dry my tears now. I have to—” whatever else he had to do was lost as he began to hiccup, shaking his head. “C-close your eyes so I can take off my glasses.” She obediently closed them and waited. “Alright now.” He looked a little more composed, rubbing the tears from his cheeks and flushing. “I apologize… sometimes when I replay these old things, I remember too much. I’m a very emotional man, I’m afraid. You have to be, in my profession. It’s another reason they thought I was a looney.” He cleared his throat.

            “I don’t think being emotional makes you crazy,” Seras proclaimed. “In fact, it probably keeps you grounded. When you forget how to feel, you start getting to be like—”

            “Like Alucard, I know.” He chewed on his lip. “But enough of that for now.” She moved to speak, but he raised his hand. “Any questions you have must be saved for another time, I’m afraid. Right now, I’m afraid I must pull a Dr. Seward and draw your attention to other topics at the expense of appearing rude; we have little time left.” He stood up and began to pace. “What did you think of the good doctor, and of Madame Mina?”

            “She looked tired. Stressed out. And he was very nice, although he seemed a little absentminded.” Renfield nodded.

            “Can you blame them? Can you blame _her_? They’ve lost a good friend, Lucy, and she turned into something that wasn’t supposed to exist. Now they’re scrambling to defeat this monster before he takes another life…and revenge on Johnathan Harker for escaping his clutches.”

            “But _why_? Why doesn’t he just cut his losses and leave England?” Seras asked in frustration. “Why can’t he go to the States, or to the rest of Europe? What’s so special about Harker?”

            “My dear, have you ever known him to give up _anything_? He will fight and feed, and feed and fight and scheme and plan until it kills him, all for the sake of what he wants!” Renfield turned on his heel and pointed at her. “Think of London, all those years ago? Did he _have_ to drink all that blood? Of course not! He only wanted it for his own purposes, and that’s what got him in the end. He wouldn’t rest until the Nazis were gone. He wouldn’t rest until that Walter fellow was gone. He kept running and running and then… he ran out.”

            “But what does this have to do with me!?” Seras cried. “I can’t stop him from doing that sort of thing!”

            “But you called him back, and _there’s_ the key!” Renfield exclaimed in reply, crossing the room quickly and placing one hand on each of her cheeks. “You, something so tiny and so _insignificant_ in the structure of the universe; you were able to turn the tides in a way no one else on earth can!”

            “I-insignificant?!” Seras repeated irritably, shaking off his hands. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, honestly.” Renfield scoffed, shaking her lightly by the shoulders. He looked like a student working with a pupil who just couldn’t seem to grasp the lesson.

            “I’ll say it this way: if it had been Integra who’d never given up the faith that he’d return instead of you, she’d have died without him in the end.” Still the gears in her head refused to clink together, but in the back of her mind something small began to spark. He gazed imploringly at her, giving her another small shake. “It was _your_ voice he heard over and over again. It was _you_ he killed three million, four hundred twenty-four thousand, eight hundred and sixty-seven souls for.”

            “But…why?” The spark turned into a small flame, lighting up the machinery that was starting to turn, shaking off the cobwebs and churning comprehension.

            “Because in his mind, nothing took importance over getting back to you, since you waited for him so patiently.” Seras felt her jaw drop like the doctor’s had not twenty minutes before.

            “But that would mean—he _doesn’t_ care for me. In any way,” she denied, pushing his hands off her shoulders. “You know that. Just look what he’s doing!”

            “My goodness, you’re being exceptionally thickheaded,” Renfield tsked. “I _just_ got through saying that he was a vindictive bastard, in not so many words. He’d take revenge on his own mother for defying him as you do, I’m sure of it.” He smiled at her. “You love him, don’t you?”

            “I—” Seras gulped, looking down at her bare feet in her pajamas. “No. Yes. Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure, really…” She looked back up defiantly. “What does it matter? He doesn’t love me. He’d be angry if he knew that I loved him.”

            “He knows already,” Renfield said simply. This took her off-guard and she gaped at him in shock. “He doesn’t know how to handle it at the present, so he ignores it as long as you keep giving him a chance to. And you’re right… he doesn’t love you.” His smile faltered. “I really don’t think he could love an innocent baby right now. He’s very warped.”

            “Well, can’t you just unwarp him?” she asked, only half-sarcastically. Renfield pursed his lips in thought.

            “I’m not sure. I never thought to ask. I don’t see how I _could_ , though, without removing his memories. That wouldn’t be good. Amnesia is allowed in some cases, but as a general rule it’s important to keep one’s personal record of experiences. It helps them make choices, you see.”

            “And choice is everything,” Seras finished dully. She’d heard Alucard preach the same thing over and over to her again in her fledgling days. Renfield nodded.

            “Yes, it’s everything. You’re _supposed_ to make choices. Free will is, in my profession, the double-edged sword. Both a great blessing, and a great curse. You can choose to ignore me. It’s not in your best interest, but there it is.” He looked up sharply as church bells began to sound. “Oh damn, it’s that time already.” He clicked his tongue and moved to sit on the bed. “Well, you better get over in that corner, I imagine. It’s midnight, and it’s time for another ghost of the past to come take a peek.”

            “Eh?!” Seras turned and, sure enough, it was dark outside. “How the hell did time go by so fast?!”

            “I sped it up just a bit,” Renfield admitted sheepishly. “Just enough to get everything we need out of the way before you wake up in your own bed, safe and sound.”

            “Oh.” Seras walked over to the corner he picked out and leaned against the wall, no longer caring about her clothes. “Who’s coming now? Dr. Van Helsing?” Renfield shook his head.

            “No, not a doctor…” he looked towards the window. “But a Count.”


	6. Chapter 6

            “Alucard’s coming here….” Seras trailed off, worrying her lower lip. “Or… you’re right, the Count.” The man coming wasn’t Alucard, at least not fully. It wasn’t _her_ person (if he could, in fact, be called hers at all), but instead—Count Dracula, owner of Carfax Abbey and killer… _killing_ …. “He-he can’t come here tonight!” she squeaked, leaping in place and nearly leaving the ground. “Is he coming for _you_?!” She didn’t want to see Renfield get beat to a miserable pulp, no matter _what_ the man himself thought.

            “Not for another day or two,” he reassured her, catching onto her panic. “Your poor madman still has some time left in this resort.” He waved at the four walls, but there was no true merriment in his voice. When she merely looked at him fearfully, he let out a little heartfelt sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples. He turned his face heavenwards, the shadows playing on the creases of his skin and giving him a more wizened appearance.

            “Are you—?”

            “I always need a little strength for this moment,” he confided quietly. Seras couldn’t tell if he were stating fact, or asking some higher power to grant it to him. Her index finger found her teeth and she began chewing on it, if only to save her lip from being shredded to pieces by her fangs. He had the oddest way of speaking, as if he forgot that he wasn’t alone. She doubted she’d ever grow fully used to it.

            When she opened her mouth again, planning on trying to glean some more information from him, a chill curled her toes before settling in the base of her spine. The hair on the back of her neck rose, her jaw clenching and accidentally biting her cheek. She tasted blood and panicked, her brain on autopilot before Common-Sense-Seras took back over. _You’re not here. No one can see you, or smell your blood._ Still, she fought the urge to just back into the wall and disappear completely. _I’m **not** here, _ she restated firmly.

            The world around her blurred and she blinked twice, rubbing at her eyes before realizing that it was mist. She pursed her lips as it flooded the cell up to her waist, pouring through the bars of the window and spreading like thick, oozing syrup up the walls in a gravity-defying gesture. _Still as grandiose as ever, even if he **is** just a Count. _ When she looked back at the window, the bars were gone, as if they’d never been there to begin with. Arching a brow, she turned to see Renfield with his elbows on his knees, back hunched as he stared thoughtfully at the fog billowing around him at eye-level.

            “I wondered if you might come tonight.” The mist near the window thickened, became blackened and opaque as though charred to a cinder. The molasses quality became more pronounced as it blotched and quivered, sinking as though the density was heavier than the whitish, translucent substance. Renfield laced his fingers, taking in a measured, slightly frustrated breath. “You’re late, aren’t you? Dawn’s rising, whether or not you like it.” Seras turned her head to the window, habitually looking for the telltale signs of a lightening sky. She couldn’t see much through the mist, but it still looked safe for another hour or two. _Why are you bothering? It’s not like it’ll burn you here, nitwit._

            As she watched, the black mist reached the ground and rose in a graceful pillar, spreading up instead of out like one might expect it to. Up, up, up, taller than the window, billowing into a vague shape that might have been humanlike before turning slowly from the window to face the inside of the cell. A flash of crimson, macabre and bright against the blackness, caught her eye and then, as the mist cleared, she made out the folds of a cloak. It floated towards the ground as two strong arms flung it back, molding to the shifting black shapes that spread along the cracked, dingy stone. Squinting, she made out the hair next. Yards of it, _miles_ of it, thick and cascading down to earth in a knotted mess of ebony locks that glimmered with the faintest of blue sheens in the flickering gaslight. It stuck out at odd angles, as though it had been touched to an electric current and never put to straights.

            One hand, gloved in white, rose to part the bangs; at first she couldn’t decide what was inherently _wrong_ about the situation, before realizing that it was the purity of the gloves. No runes were etched in black across the stark surface; it was marred with no odd symbols or Germanic tongue. Then, while she was still processing this information, the hair was shaken back from a pale face that she could have easily picked out of any crowd. It was Alucard, and yet it was _not_. The features were twisted in strange, un-Alucard ways. Curious, she overcome her fear of being somehow seen and pressed even closer.

            There was the same cockiness, to be sure, as well as the same sense of regality that drew the lips and kept the brow unwrinkled by paltry matters. But there was something in his eyes that caught her, causing an unknown emotion to flicker deep within her breast. She’d seen that glint before, but where? It took a moment to place, but she stiffened in shock as she recognized it: it was the same expression worn by the rogue vampires she hunted down for the Organization. Every half-ass mastermind wannabe held that same devil-may-care, undefeated attitude. It was only when they stared death in the face that they showed any signs of awakening. Until that moment came, they thought they could never be bested, that they were _the one._

            _Megalomaniacs_.

            “So you wore it too….” She whispered it to him, though he had no way of hearing. Perhaps back—or, rather, forward—he heard it in the future. “I wouldn’t have wanted this. Not even for someone like you.” If Renfield paid attention to her words, he didn’t comment on them.

            “Watch yourself, before you start speaking like a true lunatic.” Alucard stepped past her and she was forced to dance backwards, keeping out of his way while still getting a good look at his face. A sneer curled his lip as he studied the seated figure before him. As she gazed up at him, eyes tracing the cold, calculating jaw, she felt the strangest urge. She wanted… to touch him. She found her hand rising, reaching for the black sleeve of his suit almost of its own accord. Feeling eyes on her, she looked towards the stool and saw Renfield staring at her. The Count looked as well, though he had no way of knowing that she stood there. Her hand fell guiltily.

            “ _Why_ did you come?” Renfield didn’t stir, but the air felt as though he’d stood abruptly; it was enough that Seras backed another step, keeping them both in her sights. “I thought you’d be watching those men as they go through your home.”

            “That is not my home,” he laughed, scornfully. “I do not reside in chapels.” His gaze drifted over him lazily. “You know why I am here.”

            “Do I?” This time, there was a clear warning in the man’s voice that urged the vampire not to press the issue. The Count either didn’t notice or didn’t care—Seras thought very much of the latter option—and only scoffed. 

            “You sold me out. Did you think I wouldn’t hear of it?” His eyes twinkled with egotistical glee. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.” He lifted the corner of his cloak as he spoke, and Seras put her hands over her mouth to muffle the shriek of surprise as nearly a dozen rats tumbled from the shadows, red eyes gleaming and little nails scrabbling as they ran for the corners of the room. She danced in place, but they seemed to avoid her as if _they,_ too, knew she were there.

            “I thought I was merely gathering intelligence, not holding down your good name.” Renfield laughed himself, the sound too high and mocking to come from his throat. “In fact, I don’t remember your name crossing my lips.”

            “You’ve given them something to fear, you mongering insect eater.” He waved his hand dismissively. “They’ll be doubly cautious now.”

            “Humph.” Renfield shrugged. “Well, I’m a solicitor, not an intel specialist.”

            “In-tel?” the Count repeated, a hint of confusion in his tone. He shook his head. “Never mind that, don’t change the subject. Not to mention _she_ was in here, and you let her squirm between your fingers like the slimy maggots you fawn over without finding out where _Harker_ is!” Seras shuddered at the mental image his words conveyed. 

            “It was a social call!” Renfield argued back, holding his hands up in a placating way. “And it’s not like she was alone. I wasn’t to know about her husband, other than the fact that she was married, and that was told to me by the good lady herself!”

            “Oh, never mind!” the Count spat again, and Seras turned to the door apprehensively. They might have been in an insane asylum, but did that mean they should be yelling so loudly? Renfield seemed less serene than she knew him to be, and she wondered if that was a trait that had come with mostly Alucard-less years while the vampire was in confinement. Then again, perhaps he merely used this tone with Alucard alone; she’d certainly never tried to pick a fight with him, either. Was this his argumentative voice? 

            Maybe it was just that he found Alucard—her Alucard—to be an improvement from this Count. A welcome enough improvement that he sought to keep peace rather than instigate. Or welcome enough to take certain liberties, at least.

            “She was only sating her curiosity under the guise of the good doctor,” Renfield claimed, but the Count didn’t seem to be listening.

            “I’ll just get it out of her myself,” he grumbled, rubbing his chin with one hand. As Seras watched the bickering, she frowned. _I wish I could step in, like I do at home. This seems rather pointless. Did he just come to complain?_ She made a ‘wrap it up!’ motion at Renfield, who merely arched a brow imperiously. _I guess he **can’t** technically hurry it on, seeing as this has all already happened…. _But he really was doing little more than pushing Alu—the Count’s buttons. _At least that much hasn’t changed over the centuries._

            “You’ll do no such thing!” The Count chuckled and vanished in much the same way Seras always saw him go, only markedly slower. “Damn you, you vampire!” Renfield cursed, kicking at the door as the mist vanished along with its commander. There was a quick scraping outside the door.

            “Wa’ssit?” A voice mumbled.

            “Please, tell Dr. Seward that I must see him at once!” Renfield called through the door. “At once!”

            “Renfield?” Seras timidly crept towards him. “What are—” A part of her recognized the scene, having read it time and time again. “What’s going on—”

            “Shh, my dear. Shh.” He laid his hand on her arm, and this time she saw the moon trek feebly across the floor, like a cheap fast forward on a well-played VCR tape. “This is the moment, this is the crucial, the quintessential, the most _exuberant_ moment! Or one of them, at least.”

            “I think he’s excited.” It was the Doctor. “Steady as she goes, men.” There were murmured agreements as the door opened. Seras saw Dr. Seward first, still wearing the clothes he’d worn in the daytime. As he walked in, others trailed behind him. First was a small man, thin and sickly with gray hair and a furrowed brow, as though he were under constant stress. Behind him was a tall man, tall enough that he had to duck through the door, with a bushy mustache and sparkling eyes. A genteel man in a suit followed next, with slicked hair the same shade as the dead mercenary Captain’s and a heavyset face. And behind him, pulling up the rear, was an outfit she’d seen only hours earlier.

            Red coat. Black vest. White shirt. Crimson cravat, neatly tied. Shining black boots. No glasses or hat, but they _were_ indoors. The man was tall and lean, his gray hair sticking out in places and his nose nearly as broad as Dr. Seward’s. He moved to look over the room, his eyes passing trough Seras, and she saw the irises were the piercing blue of— _van Helsing. It’s got to be._ Only one person would have Sir Integra’s eyes. _Why on earth would Alucard wear van Helsing’s clothes? That’s… that’s really weird! It’s like me wearing **his** clothes!  _  

            “Well?” Dr. Seward asked quietly.

            “I would that you would be so kind as to release me from the asylum and send me home now.” The doctor’s eyes widened in clear surprise. “I am entirely sane, as you can well see.” Renfield waved a hand to the four behind him. “I appeal to your friends; they will, perhaps, not mind sitting in judgment on my case. By the way, you have not introduced me.” Seras wondered if it was for her benefit that he asked. Dr. Seward closed his mouth, swallowed, blinked a few times, and then almost out of force of habit he turned and motioned to the men.

            “Lord Godalming,” he said, showing the one in the suit, “Professor van Helsing,” the one in red, as she figured, “Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas,” the tall one with the laughing eyes, “and Mr. Jonathan Harker, of Exeter.” Renfield went up and took the Lord’s hand.

            “Lord Godalming, I had the honor of seconding your father at the Windham,” he said somberly, giving it a firm shake. “I grieve to know, by your holding the title, that he is no more. He was a man loved and honored by all who knew him; and in his youth was, I have heard, the inventor of a burnt rum punch, much patronized on Derby night.” The man nodded his assent of the compliments; Seras wondered if he really had known the late Lord Godalming.

            “Mr. Morris,” he said next, shaking the Texan’s hand with vigor, “you should be _proud_ of your great state. Its reception into the Union was a precedent which may have far-reaching effects hereafter, when the Pole and the Tropics may hold alliance to the Stars and Stripes. The power of the Treaty may yes prove a vast engine of enlargement, when the Monroe doctrine takes its true place as a political fable.” Seras felt, rather than heard, the sarcasm in his voice. The man, however, had no way of knowing the speech to be anything but true and offered a nod of his head.

            “What shall any man say of his pleasure at meeting _van Helsing_? Sire, I make no apology for dropping all forms of conventional prefix,” he said blithely, with a sort of simpering smile. Seras moved to his side and looked up at the Hellsing ancestor, noting the gray stubble along his chin. He seemed nice enough, but it was no stretch of the imagination to think of that hand, now so gently shaking Renfield’s, to drive a stake into the heart of one such as herself.

            “When an individual has revolutionized therapeutics by his discovery of the continuous evolution of brain matter, conventional forms are unfitting since they would seem to limit him to one of a class.” Seras frowned at the man, wondering why he felt the need to pull this sort of crazy speech out just for someone like van Helsing. It made her head whirl and she didn’t understand a word of it, though the Professor seemed to follow perfectly.

 “You, gentlemen, who by nationality, by heredity, or by the possession of natural gifts,” his tongue rolled over _gifts_ as if to say he knew very well what sort of occult power lay in the Professor’s bloodstream, “are fitted to hold your respective places in the moving world, I take to witness that I am as sane as at last the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. And I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian and medico-jurist as well as scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as one to be considered as under exceptional circumstances.” He finished his speech with an arch of the brow and a wave of the hand that, even with knowing him only a few days, Seras had come to know as pure-Renfield.

The four men whose hand’s he’d shaken looked at one another, then at Dr. Seward. The poor doctor was beside himself, mouth agape and eyes bugging as though he couldn’t believe his ears. They were all staggered by the words that had flowed from this ‘madman’s’ mouth.

“W-W-Well, you appear to be improving rapidly, Mr. Renfield,” he managed to say. Licking his lips, his eyes flitted to van Helsing and back before he cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning, we shall have a longer chat and we’ll see what we can do about scheduling your release into society.” Renfield’s face fell and he shook his head.

“No, no, no.” He sighed, rubbing his temples again, and Seras realized that _this_ was the moment he meant, when he said he needed strength. The comprehension floored her, and she nearly fell back on the bed as she looked on. “But I fear, Dr. Seward, that you hardly apprehend my wish. I desire to go at once—here—now—this very hour—” he emphasized, tapping his knuckles against the palm of his hand. “This very _moment_ , if I may. Time presses, and in our implied agreement with the old scytheman it is of the essence of the contract. I am sure,” he continued, this time in the same tones she’d heard him using with _her_ on the beach, “it is only necessary to put before so admirable a practitioner as Dr. Seward so simple, yet so momentous a wish, to ensure its fulfillment.”

 His keen eyes stared steadily at the man’s face, then slowly moved to each man in turn. Seras felt, somehow, that he was reading their thoughts rather than their expressions.

“Is it possible that I may have erred in my supposition?” he asked mildly, as though he didn’t already know by the cold mask of indifference that had slowly slid across the doctor’s face.

“You have,” Dr. Seward replied frankly, a measure of merciless distance in his tone. Renfield heard the icy crackle as clearly as she did, and he paused for a moment, just… watching. The doctor fidgeted slightly underneath the heavy gaze.

“Then I suppose I must only shift my ground of request,” he said slowly, drawing each syllable out until he must have rivaled the Texan in his slur. “Let me ask for this concession—boon, privilege, what you will. I am content to implore in such a case, not on personal grounds, but for the sake of others.” _I’ll just get it out of her myself._

 _Are you trying to save them?_ The question went unasked, for he was still talking.

“I am not at liberty to give you the whole of my reasons; but you may, I assure you, take it from me that they are good ones, sound and unselfish, and spring from the highest sense of duty. Could you look, sir, into my heart, you would approve to the full the sentiments which anime mate. Nay, more, you would count me amongst the best and truest of your friends.”

He stopped talking and no one moved, the lot of them just staring at him, and he at them. The Professor seemed to be staring more intently than the others, and for the first time Seras wondered just how much van Helsing knew, or guessed, about who Renfield was… _what_ he was. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows, already bushy to begin with, were trying their best to become a unibrow as his forehead crinkled with thought. Seras expected Dr. Seward to reply, but there was an all too familiar rustling of a coat and then… a voice, warm and rich, booming with thunder.

“Can you not tell frankly your real reason for wishing to be free tonight?” he asked not unkindly, the accents pulling at his words until Seras had to listen hard to make sure she was catching the right meaning around the odd inflections. “I will undertake that if you will satisfy even me—a stranger, without prejudice, and with the habit of keeping an open mind—Dr. Seward will give you, at his own risk and on his own responsibility, the privilege you seek.”

Renfield shook his head, each motion lower until it hung with sadness. When he lifted it again, the look was one of poignant regret. Seras reached out to him unthinkingly, but he didn’t seem to notice her anymore. _But I feel such guilt, and I have such regrets…._

“Come, sir, bethink yourself.” Van Helsing took a step closer, though not within touching range. “You claim the privilege of reason in the highest degree, since you seek to impress us with your complete reasonableness. You do this, whose sanity we have reason to doubt, since you are not yet released from medical treatment for this very defect. If you will not help us in our effort to choose the wisest course, how can we perform the duty which you yourself put upon us? Be wise, and help us; and if we can we shall aid you to achieve your wish.”

Something registered in the back of her mind, something that told her that the professor was speaking on the same level as Renfield, as equals in the realm of the occult and magic. That he knew, somehow. That he was not asking for Renfield to help them help _him_ , but to help them defeat the Count. All this filtered through her consciousness, but things were happening so fast that she barely had time to understand it and apply it to the situation. Renfield was shaking his head again, this time in clear defiance. He sighed at his shoes, swallowing slowly before answering.

“Dr. van Helsing, I have nothing to say. Your argument is complete, and if I were free to speak I should not hesitate a moment; but I am not my own master in the matter.” _When the head of Creation tells you to do something, you don’t dare refuse._ “I can only ask you to trust me. If I am refused, the responsibility does not rest with me.”

“Then why do you still feel guilt over it?” Seras asked, her voice somehow hoarse. Renfield flinched visibly, but didn’t look at her.

“Come, my friends, we have work to do. Good night.” Dr. Seward turned, pursing his lips. Clearly he didn’t understand the situation, not like her and Renfield and—dare she say it—van Helsing. Lord Godalming looked befuddled, Quincey scratched at his mustache nonchalantly, and Mr. Harker just looked tired. Renfield watched as they headed for the door, frozen by something—perhaps his own emotion. Then, with a violent movement, he lunged after the doctor’s coat and held out both hands, his muscles tensed. He seemed to be holding himself back by sheer willpower alone.

“Let me entreat you, Dr. Seward,” he practically begged, his voice raw with emotion. “Oh, let me implore you, to let me out of this house _at once_. Send me away how you will and where you will; send keepers with me with whips and chains; let them take me in a straight-waist-coat, manacled and leg-ironed, even to a gaol; but let me go out of this. You _don’t_ know what you do by _keeping me here_.” Seras felt the tears prick her eyes and it was all she could do not to run to him and comfort him in what little way she could. He sounded like a man pleading for life, not just to escape an asylum.

“I am speaking from the very depths of my heart, from my very soul. You don’t know whom you wrong, or how; and I may not tell. Woe is me; I may not tell!” He seemed ready to beat at his breast, to let out a scream or start to sobbing, but he held his peace and only the cracking of his voice let show any physical form of emotion. “By all you hold sacred—by all you hold dear—by your love that is lost—by your hope that _still lives_ —for the sake of the Almighty, take me out of this and save my _soul_ from _guilt_!”

Seras gasped, the gears clicking into place. She read along in her mind’s eye, the white words of her e-book flowing along in time with his voice. But this was worse, a thousand times worse, because now she could hear the man himself say them and feel the pain that before, she could only imagined echoing out of every breath.

“Can’t you hear me, man? Can’t you understand? Will you never learn? Don’t you know that I am sane and earnest now; that I am no lunatic in a mad fit, but a sane man fighting for his soul? Oh, hear me! Hear me! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!” He sank to his knees, utterly despondent.

“Oh, Mr. Renfield,” Seras choked, and felt the tears form a lump in her throat. “I’m so… I’m so sorry….”

“Come,” Dr. Seward said sternly, yanking him to his feet. Renfield’s face was wracked with emotion, but still he did not cry. He looked up into the doctor’s face with a pleading earnest, but also with resignation. He knew what he wanted would not come. “No more of this; we have had quite enough already.” He pointed, and at first Seras thought he was pointing at her, but he was merely motioning to the cot. “Get to your bed and try to behave more discreetly.”

Renfield stared at him, shoulders slumping as the moments ticked by. Then he turned, face blank, and sat on the edge of the bed. Seras looked down at him, but he didn’t catch her eye as his head bowed, as if with fatigue. Dr. Seward nodded to himself before waving to his peers and turning back to leave. Dr. van Helsing scratched his stubble, watching the lunatic before putting a hand on Mr. Harker’s shoulder as they left.

“You will,” Dr. Seward stopped, turning back to listen with surprise as Renfield spoke again. Seras watched with some bit of triumph as he assumed the position she thought he might, fingers spread along his knees as he lifted his head to look at the doctor once more. “I trust, Dr. Seward, do me the justice to bear in mind that I did what I could to convince you tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword:
> 
> What? November 2015? Oh dear…. (clenched teeth emoji) Sorry! 
> 
> Again, a lot of this comes from the titular book. Thankfully, Renny is a bit of a talkative lunatic. I promise the next chapter shouldn’t take so long to do! I’m sorry!


End file.
